


Nostalgia AU AU

by blue_jack



Series: Nostalgia [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dom!Tony, M/M, Steve is only 19 here, This is an AU of my AU, Top Tony Stark, sub!Steve, virgin!steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m sorry, Steve, but without a Dominant, you’re stuck here.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nostalgia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/533244) by [blue_jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack). 



> Why, yes, this is an AU of my AU. And the title is so original, I know. 
> 
> Anyway, I started this partly because I was getting tired of writing all the angst in Nostalgia, so I was going to write the same idea but have Steve be all, I'm going to get my man! And this hasn't turned out exactly like what I had in mind, but then, it never does, I suppose. It's also not the AU I mentioned where Tony basically takes what he wants, but I still have hopes of writing that some day.
> 
> Rating will change when we get there.
> 
> Many, many thanks to MetaAllu for all the cheerleading. *hugs hugs hugs*

“I’m sorry, Steve, but without a Dominant, you’re stuck here.”

It takes a while for the words to really sink in, to realize that Nick is serious and isn’t going to back down. 

“You can’t expect me to follow a regulation that wasn’t even in place when I was in the army.”

“I can and I do.”

He eventually becomes reconciled to the idea after Nick shows him paper after paper about the effects of PTSD on Submissives and Dominants and suggested treatments for both. They’re different for the two groups, and the researchers posit that isolation is the last thing a Submissive needs when dealing with trauma. Thus, the rule that Submissives who’ve seen battle have to stay in base housing unless they’re contracted. 

While Steve could argue that not all Submissives are the same, that he’s different, that it actually feels more isolating to be around all these people who can’t understand than it does to be alone, he doesn’t try it. It’s commendable that the military’s trying to take care of the Dominants and Submissives who’ve served, and this isn’t one of those rules he feels justified in circumventing. Nick’s already skirting the line by not assigning him a roommate, something he’s thankfully never suggested; Steve isn’t going to ask him for more.

Choosing a Dominant seems the lesser of the two evils—one person trying to help him and being frustrated when it doesn’t work versus a whole barracks-full—so he takes the many, many personnel files Nick gives him, and he looks carefully through each one. If none of the Dominants is the person he really wants, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

For all that he’s willing to cooperate, however, it’s not an easy decision. All the potential Dominants have exemplary records and are decorated with medals, and Steve has no doubt that Nick had them vetted before he ever put their photographs in front of him. But while he can read their profiles and even think “that one looks cheerful” and “this one has a nice smile,” all the information piled in front of him doesn’t make any one of them stand out. They all seem strangely flat to him, colorless and somewhat abstract, and he can barely remember anything he’s read about them after he's done or bring to mind a specific face.

He knows he has to make a decision soon—he’d promised Nick he’d have a short-list of candidates by the end of the week—but he’s starting to think he’s going to have to pin all their pictures to the wall and throw darts in order to narrow down his options.

Except then it all changes.

He’s in the gym when it happens. There’s a certain mindless comfort in hitting a punching bag, in taking all his turmoil and throwing it outward and exhausting himself in the process. He goes down to the gym once a day, sometimes more when he really needs it, like now, and he takes his frustrations out on things that can’t hit back, no matter how much he wants them to.

Tonight, however, he can’t seem to find his rhythm, can’t get lost in the feel of his fist hitting the leather, and he’s more keyed up by the time he calls it quits than he was when he started. 

Since he’s the last one there, he does the polite thing and goes over to turn the television off, even though he hadn’t been watching it. He’s not a big fan of TV. Everything happens too fast, like they’re trying to jam as much into thirty minutes as possible, so a person barely has time to understand what’s going on before they’re jumping to the next thing, and there’s this fascination with sex and violence that he just can’t condone. It makes him jittery to watch it, so he uses his iPod to drown out the noise whenever it’s on—which is why he’s completely unprepared when he finally gets close enough to the TV to hears, “Tony Stark.”

He knew Howard had a son and had envisioned a little dark-haired boy with Howard’s mischievous smile and flair for dramatics, but he hadn’t given it much thought. 

He got the hair and the smile right at least, he thinks distantly, as he stares at Howard’s son, all grown up, and rather well at that. 

He spares a second to wonder if it’s wrong to notice that Tony is attractive—very, _very_ attractive—but by that point, it’s already too late. 

Steve turns off his iPod. They’re just playing the highlights from a press conference that happened earlier in the day, something to do with Stark Industries, but it’s Tony that Steve pays attention to, the way he charms his audience, laughing freely and acting kind of ridiculous, although no one seems to mind. He flirts shamelessly, with Dominants and Submissives alike, and he reminds Steve of—

His heart clenches, and he has to look away for a second.

He turns right back around, however, when the anchorwoman introduces the next segment, and he’s disappointed that the news clip is already over, absently reaching out to turn off the television like he’d planned to before.

Obviously, less than a minute of coverage can’t provide Steve a fair representation of what Tony is like, but he knows that Tony’s definitely gotten his showmanship from his father. His lips twitch at the memory of some of Howard’s antics, and he wonders how similar the two men are, what else Tony has picked up from him besides that and his good looks. Not that Steve had ever been partial to Howard himself, especially since he’d considered him a rival for Peggy’s affections before he’d been set straight, but he’d heard enough other people talking about him to know he was in the minority. Tony seems just as popular as his father had been, if not more so, and Steve ruefully acknowledges that this time, he hasn’t been spared from the attraction.

It’s late, but he heads to the computer lab anyway. He likes the internet much more than he does television, even if the ubiquitous advertisements give him a headache. He doesn’t take advantage of it as much as he should, however, because he suspects SHIELD is monitoring him—it’s just too convenient that he has to input his username and password every time he wants to use the computer—and he really doesn’t want to give all the psychologists more ammunition to use against him.

He’s curious about Tony, though, and if he’s honest, it’s been a long time since he’s been interested in something. Besides, there’s a connection there between the two of them, a small one, true, but there all the same, and isn’t it worth exploring? Maybe Howard talked about him to Tony once or twice. Maybe Tony even met some of their joint friends while he was growing up. The possibility of having something to share with someone is enough to make him ignore the feeling of eyes on him and he logs into the terminal (is it odd that he misses the loud clack of typewriter keys?) and starts pulling up information about Tony Stark.

\-----

“What do you _mean_ you want Stark as your Dominant?” Nick asks, and Steve is almost tempted to smile at the appalled confusion on his face.

“He’s my choice,” Steve says, and he’s surprised by the feeling that kind of spreads through him right after he tells Nick that, something sharp but almost sweet, and it makes his stomach flutter, makes him want to bounce up on his toes—

It’s anticipation, he realizes, and he frowns a little. He’s looking forward to this.

“His wasn’t one of the names I gave you.”

There’s a lot that he could say to that, but he’s trying to get Nick to agree with him, so he throws out most of it and says, “No, but he’s still a SHIELD—”

“Stark is _not_ associated with SHIELD,” Nick snaps, and there’s some weird tension there, enough that Steve wonders if Tony turned them down, or if Nick’s just horrified by the idea, or what, because he knows they’ve worked together before.

“He’s flagged for the Avenger’s Initiative, though,” Steve points out reasonably, “so you must have some confidence in him.”

“This has nothing to do with Stark’s abilities or how he reacts on a battlefield.”

“Then . . . you just don’t like him,” Steve guesses, because he can imagine that Tony’s arrogance and maverick attitude probably don’t mix well with Nick’s no-nonsense approach to things.

“I like Stark just fine,” Nick says surprisingly. “I just don’t like him for _you_.”

“Why not?”

“How about the fact that he’s a jet-setting, attention-seeking philanderer who not only enjoys parading a different Submissive on his arm every chance he gets, but who’s never settled down in a long-time contract? Or that he’s somewhat of a megalomaniac and has been known to lock himself in his lab for days on end when he’s in the middle of inventing something? _Or_ that he’s been kidnapped—twice—and nearly died multiple times in the last year alone?” 

Nick has a loud voice, Steve notes, and he puts it to good use.

“Stark isn’t the type of Dominant that I’d hope for you, Steve. Believe me, I understand you wanting to get out from under SHIELD’s umbrella, but you need someone who’ll give you time to adjust, someone stable who’ll be patient and understanding—”

Steve doesn’t mean to ignore Nick, not really, but he doesn’t want to listen anymore either. It’s not like he hasn’t heard it before or read about how everyone need a support network, Submissives in particular, and he knows he’s suffered through a traumatic event and that he’s not okay. He knows. He’s lost everyone he loved. He has nightmares every night. There are some days when he has to convince himself to even get out of bed. How can he not know?

The thing is, though, he doesn’t want someone to mollycoddle him, someone who’ll be unbearably kind and will handle him with kid gloves. What he wants is to go back, to be with Peggy and Bucky and everyone else, to have a chance at things that were only vague possibilities during the war. That’s impossible, though, and no matter how much he wishes otherwise and how much it hurts, that’s not going to change. So in lieu of what he wants, he’ll settle for taking what he can get. And he thinks he can get Tony. Not for forever; he doesn’t expect that. But Tony seems enough like Howard with his brilliant mind, ready laugh, and hedonistic attitude that Steve thinks Tony can help him forget for a while everything he’s lost. Maybe it’ll only be for a minute here and there, maybe an hour if he’s lucky; but that’d be enough for him, if Tony could teach him how to smile again and mean it, could help him to laugh without feeling guilty for doing it.

Steve’s realistic, though. It’s entirely possible that Tony isn’t the right Dominant for that, that he won’t know what to do with Steve, or that Steve will get fed up with his lifestyle and ask to be released from his contract. He still wants to try, though, wants to succeed or fail based on his own decisions, wants some kind of control over his own life, because he doesn’t feel like he has any right now.

“—and you’re not listening to a single word out of my mouth,” Nick says, throwing his hands up into the air.

Steve glances at him sheepishly, but knows better than to deny it.

“Alright!” Nick shakes his head and sighs. “Alright. It may have been a while ago, but I still remember what it was like to be young and have my heart set on something. I’ll arrange an introduction. But that’s it!” he says, pointing a finger at Steve. “You’re going to have to convince him to take you on yourself, and I still want three backup candidates in case he refuses.”

“Yes, Sir,” is all Steve says, giving in gracefully since he’s gotten what he wanted, but the feeling of anticipation is back, stronger than before, and it’s almost unsettling how eager he is for this.

\-----

Steve’s in the next room when Nick explains the situation to Tony, but he can hear the, “You called me here for _what_?” through the door. He smooths the front of his shirt down and takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t do much to calm his nerves.

It seems like forever before the two of them finally enter the room, but Steve takes it as a positive sign that Tony’s agreed to meet him.

“Hello, Mr. Stark,” he says, extending his hand, and it’s strange to call him that when he’s been calling Tony by his first name in his head for over a week now—weirder still when he thinks he only called Tony’s _father_ that once or twice—and he’s not quite sure how to feel about all of this now that it’s happening. 

Although if nothing else, he can say that Tony is even more handsome face to face than he is in his pictures.

“Um, yes, hi, hello,” Tony says, and his hand rises and falls before finally coming up to take Steve’s. It’s a Dominant’s handshake, firm and almost too hard, and he can still feel the phantom pressure after they let go, flexes his fingers minutely, just to make it flare up some more.

There’s a brief silence where no one says anything, but Steve’s in no rush to fill it, content with the way things are for the moment as he looks at Tony. As Tony looks back at him.

“Call me Tony,” he eventually tells him, somewhat grudgingly, and it kind of makes Steve want to smile.

“Yes, Sir,” he murmurs, not really thinking about it, just habit, but when Tony’s eyebrows go up, Steve knows that’s not how Tony took it.

Steve can feel his cheeks get warm, but he doesn’t look away.

“Look. Kid,” Tony says, taking off his sunglasses as he looks to the side. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered that you’d consider me, but you’re like, what, twelve—”

“I’m nineteen. Not counting the seventy years I was frozen,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s ever made a reference to what happened without wanting to hit something. Although that might be because he kind of wants to hit Tony a little for making his age an issue, and so he just doesn’t notice the difference. 

Kid. Ha. 

“Right. Well . . . congratulations on that. No longer being a capsic—on being unfrozen, I mean,” Tony says, rubbing his jaw, and it’s awkward, but Steve doesn’t care.

“I don’t see what my age has to do with anything,” he says, standing up as straight as he can, and he hopes he conveys a sense of wounded dignity versus childish petulance. “I’m old enough to have fought in a war—”

“Look, I’m not arguing that you’ve been through a lot,” Tony says, holding up his hands defensively. “You’re probably extremely mature for your age, and hell, arguably more mature than I am, but I just don’t feel comfortable with contracting with someone who’s basically—”

He folds his arms across his chest. “Didn’t I see you on the news the other day at some movie premiere with a twenty-one year old model?”

“Okay, see, but, there’s a big difference between that situation and this one. First,” Tony says, starting to tick off his fingers, “a lot can happen in two years.” 

Steve thinks about how his life has changed in the last couple of years of his life and can’t disagree. 

“Second, at twenty one, she’s legally an adult _and_ able to drink alcohol, something you’re technically not allowed to do—”

“The minimum age was eighteen in my day, and I think that biologically being eighty nine years old has to count for something.” 

“Third,” Tony continues, talking right over him, “she was a civilian, and you’re not. I don’t contract with active duty military. That’s one too many masters for me.”

“I’m not exactly in the chain of command anymore. If anything, I’m more a free agent. Like you.” 

“And finally, fourth,” Tony says, starting to look harried, “there’s a difference between going on a date with someone and entering into a contract—”

“You mean sex. You mean it’s alright to have sex with someone significantly younger than you, but it’s not alright to be committed to them.”

“That’s not what I said. I didn’t—that is not—” Tony turns to Nick and demands, “Is this what you’re teaching young kids these days?”

“Oh, I think Steve’s handling himself just fine,” Nick drawls.

“Of course you do,” Tony mutters and faces Steve, and there’s a hint of annoyance in his eyes, but his gaze seems sharper too, like Tony’s actually focusing on him instead of seeing all the ghosts that stand around him. “Look, maybe I don’t always abide by it, but I’m a big believer in the half-your-age-plus-seven minimum, and at nineteen, you’re five years out of bounds.”

“If you’re being technical, I’m—”

“See, then _I’m_ out of bounds. Please tell me you’re not one of those creepers that dates Dominants fifty years your junior?” Tony asks, looking at him askance, and Steve’s mouth twitches.

“Five years isn’t really a long time,” he says to test the waters, although he knows he’s not going to win this argument if he focuses on his age.

“Five years is a lifetime,” Tony counters. “Twenty six point three percent of _your_ lifetime as a matter of fact. Not counting the years you were asleep, of course.”

Steve considers him for a moment before glancing at Nick, who obligingly looks away. He can’t believe what he’s about to do, but Tony is cutting off his options. If he doesn’t do something drastic, he’s going to lose his chance, and he’s tired of regretting all the things he’s never done. If he’s going to kick himself for his choices, it’s not going to be because he was too scared to admit what he wanted. 

He moves closer to Tony, who raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t back away, not even when their chests are almost touching and Steve leans in to whisper into his ear, glad he can’t see Tony’s face because he’s sure his own is bright red, “What if I told you I’m more interested in having sex than in committing to you too?”

“ _What_?” Tony says in what Steve can only describe as a squeak. “What did you—?” He grabs Steve by the upper arm and drags him away from the side of the room Nick is in. “I cannot believe you just—and with Fury _right there_ —I would actually like to leave SHIELD in one piece—” Tony shakes his head in an apparent effort to clear his thoughts. “I get it, okay? I get it. You were sick and then there was the war and then being on ice, and now things are settling down, and puberty is kicking you in the balls for making it wait so long—”

“Did you just—?”

“—and there are all these hormones swirling all over the place, and you’ve got these urges you don’t know what to do with, and it’s all very confusing, but trust me, alright? It’s okay to wait. You don’t have to—”

“Tony,” he says, and even with the absurdity of the things spewing from Tony’s mouth, he takes a second to appreciate the way his name feels on his tongue. He says it again just because he can. “Tony, will you stop with the age jokes? You can take a joke too far, you know, and you reached that point about five minutes ago. And as for waiting, I’ve been waiting long enough. I don’t want to wait anymore.” 

Not when he’s already wasted all the opportunities he’s had. 

“The contract . . . the contract is because I have to. I need a Dominant if I want to have any kind of independence,” he says, and the irony doesn’t escape him, but he’s accepted that it won’t change. “But it’s only for six months. Five years may be a long time, but six months is nothing at all.” 

He licks his lips, a nervous slip of his tongue to wet them, and it’s a revelation when Tony’s eyes dart down. 

“You don’t know me, and you don’t owe me anything, and I’ll understand if you say no.” He swallows, and it feels like there are butterflies the size of baseballs launching themselves around his stomach in a mini-tornado, crashing into each other in dizzying, swooping dives. “But please don’t say no, ” he says, his voice coming out much lower than he’d intended, husky, and even to his own ears, imploring.

“Alright, break it up,” Nick says, and Steve could curse his sense of timing. “A little whispering is fine, but enough’s enough. If you’re trading secrets over there, I should be part of the discussion.”

“Yeah, because that makes sense,” Tony says, and Steve wonders if he’s just imagining the hoarseness of his voice. “I never thought I’d see the day that you were acting as my Negotiator, Fury.”

“Well, I never thought I’d see a man in a metal suit sitting in the middle of a donut, but shows what we know. Now, I haven’t got all day, Stark. You’re not the only Dominant Steve is meeting with today—”

Steve manages to keep a blank expression, but that’s the first he’s heard that he’s got anything else scheduled.

“—so I need some kind of sign of intention, one way or the other. By the way, Steve, I just noticed you’re not wearing the white bracelet that I left out for you—”

“ _White_?” Tony exclaims, and he grabs Steve’s left wrist, yanking his shirt sleeve up to expose his bare arm. Steve has no idea what bracelet they’re referring to since identifying bracelets are blue for Submissives, black for Dominants, or blue and black for Switches, but Tony looks horrified by its absence.

“Hey! I let you get away with touching once already. You’ve reached your limit,” Nick snaps, and Tony drops his arm but only in order to crowd into the other man’s space.

“What are you _thinking_? I knew the military was old-fashioned about a lot of things, but we stopped putting Submissives on the auction block decades ago—” 

“Cut the drama, Stark. It’s none of your damn business what Steve does, and if he wants to—”

“You can’t parade someone in white in front of a bunch of jaded, war-hardened, perverted assholes who no doubt get their kinks out of crushing—”

“As if you’re one to talk! When was the last time you settled down with someone for longer than a few months? _Never_ as a matter of fact,” Nick says, and Steve is starting to feel like he’s watching a tennis match as control volleys between the two opponents. “The only reason I even set up this introduction was because Steve wanted me to, but you weren’t my first choice, or my second, or even my—

“Well, then, I’m just thrilled to be disappointing you, because I’m making it my business. I want him. I want Steve to be my Submissive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have 26K of this fic already written. I have stalled out at the porn, however. I know, me stalling out at porn, wth? But I have lost the will to write anything, so I'm hoping that posting it will kick my ass in gear. I'm going to try to post once a week until I get to the 26K, or until I hopefully finish this story. Wish me luck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Almost forgot to post this week's chapter, which is so bad considering this is only the second week I've done this...

Everything happens in a rush after that. They go through the terms of the contract—Nick listing a truly impressive and intimidating array of things that Steve has to say he’s willing or not willing to do, with Nick stopping and explaining each line item if he hesitates. It’s an . . . eye-opening experience.

Tony doesn’t say anything through any of it, and Steve gets the sinking feeling it’s because he’s thinking it doesn’t apply to him. He’s not sure what the significance of the white band is, but he can guess, and he thinks it’s hurt his chances more than helped him in getting Tony to take him to bed. He recognizes over-protective Dominant when it stares him in the face, and there’s no other explanation for why Tony went from reluctantly interested to he’s-mine-no-one-else-gets-to-touch-him in the space of less than a minute.

He appreciates the gesture, he does, but it’s more frustrating than anything else. He knows that Nick was blatantly manipulating Tony—he apparently hadn’t been able to resist, his statement that it would be up to Steve to convince Tony notwithstanding—and if all Steve wanted was a Dominant to use to get away from SHIELD, it would’ve been fine. Tony doesn’t seem the jealous type, and from everything Steve’s read, Tony is pretty indulgent with his Submissives, giving them a lot of free rein. But it’s not what Steve wants. So now he has to figure out a way to get Tony over his reticence about his age as well as his inexperience; otherwise, he’s going to spend six very frustrating months with Tony before being kicked out, just as lonely and uncertain as before without even any good memories to overwrite the bad. He’s determined not to let that happen.

He doesn’t tell Tony any of this, however. There’s time for arguing—and he has no doubt that there will be a lot of it—later. He’s in a sound tactical position right now with Tony voluntarily letting him into his home, and he’s not going to give away hints of his strategy until it’s too late for him to back out. As a Submissive, Steve can break their contract at any time, but as a Dominant, Tony has to prove that Steve is reneging on his end before he can be officially released from his responsibilities, and just disobeying orders doesn’t cut it. Tony’s expected to keep him in line, and if he can’t, then that’s nobody’s fault but his own.

“Good luck, Steve,” Nick tells him after they’ve finished signing everything, a definite gleam in his eye, and Steve gets the feeling he’s enjoying himself. “Trust me, you’ll need it. Just remember that Fortune favors the bold,” he says and goes off to file the paperwork.

Tony takes him back to his room to pick up his things, and then they’re off.

Steve is unsurprised to find that Tony drives an incredibly small and expensive-looking car, and he sits gingerly in his seat, paranoid about touching anything. That quickly becomes a non-issue when Tony starts to drive, going at a speed that seems foolhardy considering how slowly the cars are moving, zipping in and out of tiny spots that shouldn’t fit another car but somehow do. Seat belts make so much sense to him now. 

He has to stifle the urge to yell out some kind of warning or admonition every few seconds and eventually just closes his eyes. He realizes that he’s been just as reckless in the past—although in his defense, it’d always been in the middle of a fight—but he’s not the one in the driver’s seat right now, and that makes all the difference.

He’s never been so happy to stop moving before, and he lets out a quiet sigh of relief when they finally pull into the garage of what he assumes is his new home. The thought makes his stomach lurch like they’re still zig-zagging in and out of traffic, and he has to take a few deep breaths, glad that for the moment, Tony isn’t paying attention to him.

He’s quiet on the way up the elevator, although Tony more than fills up the silence, describing the building, the divisions and their research, the living area at top where the two of them will be, and Steve stores it all for later. He’s already planned what he intends to do once they step into their quarters, but he has to mentally prepare for it.

Intellectually, Steve knows that he’s no longer the scrawny and sickly boy of his youth. He knows that he’s changed and that he’s capable of incredible feats of strength and speed that he could only dream about when he was growing up, but there’s still a half-second every time he looks into the mirror when he wonders at the face that looks back at him. He doesn’t know if the two images will ever completely merge together for him, but he does know that his body post-serum garners all kinds of attention that he never dealt with before.

Steve remembers Peggy’s first reaction to him after he was changed—his heart twists as the thought of her, but he pushes the ache away with the promise to mourn later—the way her hand had lifted like she was going to reach out and touch, like she almost couldn’t help herself. He wants the same knee-jerk response from Tony without the last minute stopping, wants him to keep going even when his conscience is telling him not to. Because it will. Because Tony is hung up on the difference in their ages, and while Steve appreciates that he’s trying to do the right thing, Tony’s wrong.

Steve’s an adult, mentally and physically, and it should be his choice if they do anything and how far they go. It’d be different if Tony didn’t want him back, if Tony were saying no because it was better for him. Steve doesn’t think he imagined the spark of attraction between them, however, which means Tony’s basing his decision on the idea that it’d be better for _Steve_ , and that just drives him crazy.

He waits until the door closes behind them and Tony is gesturing towards the kitchen and telling him he doesn’t keep take-out menus, but he can just ask someone named Jarvis if he has any questions, before Steve starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“So this is it,” Tony says, spreading his arms. “It’s not much, but I call it— _woah, woah_! What the hell are you doing?” Tony asks when he finally turns around and sees him, his expression a combination of surprise and prim horror that’s more suited to sometime twice Tony’s age than to the man who’s had his picture taken leaving a hotel in the wee hours of the morning with three Submissives on his arms. 

Steve lets his amusement carry him through the awkwardness of being partially naked in the company of a Dominant he barely knows, lets it smother the spike of excitement that results from the same.

“Oh. Was I supposed to wait until you said something?” he asks, and he’s not really faking his hesitation, even if the reasons aren’t probably the ones Tony thinks they are. He holds his shirt to his chest, knowing that it’s doing very little actually cover his body and leaving his nipples bare. They tighten in the cool air, and that isn’t something he’s ever paid much attention to in the past, but he’s noticing it now. “Did you want me to undress somewhere else?”

“Why are you undressing at all?” Tony exclaims, but his eyes keep darting downward, and Steve can feel warmth blooming across his skin, as if to follow the path Tony takes as he looks him over. 

“I thought that—I was told that Submissives are all supposed to be naked when they’re at home,” he explains, nevermind that the person who’d told him that had been one of the boys in the orphanage who’d whispered that piece of information to a giggling group of kids before any of them had ever known what to expect.

Tony smacks his hand over his eyes and mumbles what sounds suspiciously like, “Give me strength,” and Steve uses the opportunity to undo the button of his pants. It’s probably not the best idea—alright, he _knows_ it’s not the best idea—but he’s feeling reckless and likes the idea of pushing Tony as far as he’ll go. Maybe even farther than that.

“Look,” Tony says, dropping his arm, “while there are some Dominants that like their Submissives to be naked most of the time, I’m not one of them. Too cold and too many dangly bits all over the place. It’s distracting.”

“So you’d prefer I stay in my underwear?” Steve asks, purposefully misunderstanding him and simultaneously letting his shirt slip down.

“No, no, no! Keep your clothes on! _All_ your clothes!” Tony says, and Steve obligingly raises his shirt back up. “Wear more as a matter of fact! There are these things called sweats nowadays that I’m sure you’ll love.”

Steve nods agreeably and refrains from telling him sweats were invented back in his day. “So when _do_ you want me naked?” he asks earnestly instead, and it’s worth it for the way Tony splutters back at him.

“Why don’t we talk about this when you’re a little more settled in?” Tony finally manages to say, his face so, so red, and he jabs his finger down a hallway. “Pick a room, any room, and unpack. I’ve got to make a few phone calls and then we’ll tour the rest of the living area, alright?”

“Yes, Sir.” He’s tempted to stay and press his advantage, but maybe it’s better to give Tony some space; he doesn’t want to win a battle at the cost of losing the war. 

He slings his bag over his shoulder and turns to follow orders. The fact that his pants choose that moment to fall down is completely not his fault—discounting the fact that he’d unbuttoned them anyway. “Oops,” he says mildly and bends over at the waist to pick them up. There’s no mistaking the indrawn breath behind him, and Steve grins then, making sure to keep it hidden from Tony. He doesn’t bother fixing his pants, just clutches the top of them so there’s no danger of them sliding and goes to pick a room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late! Happy Holidays, everyone!

When he comes back out to ask some questions a few minutes later, Tony’s not there. He calls his name just to be sure, but there’s no response. Steve isn’t worried. He supposes Tony thought he’d want time to unpack and get used to the new arrangements, and Tony’s probably using the opportunity to figure out what to do next. It’s obvious that Nick hadn’t given him any warning about what to expect before he’d stepped into their meeting that morning, and it’s not every day that a person goes out and comes back with a Submissive.

He decides to use the opportunity to explore a little without Tony there, and he wanders around, not touching anything, just getting used to where everything is. If he hadn’t known it before, it quickly becomes obvious that Tony is extremely rich. He lets out a long whistle at a crystal vase that looks like it’s worth more than he’s made in back pay over the last seventy years and gives it a wide berth. He’s never been clumsy, but why risk it? 

He wonders if he’ll bump into the Jarvis that Tony referred to earlier, but it turns out he’s not around either, which is a relief. Better to push off the awkward introductions until Tony’s back. 

He stops when he gets to what can only be Tony’s bedroom—on the complete opposite side of the apartment and as far as it could possibly be from where he’s trying to put Steve, even though there’s a smaller, adjoining room to Tony’s. His eyes narrow. That just won’t do.

He’s sitting on the couch, reading a book he brought with him, when Tony returns almost thirty minutes later.

“Oh, done already?” Tony says, sounding a little guilty, no doubt for abandoning his new Submissive to his own devices, and well he should. “Did you, uh, pick a room?”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve says, but he doesn’t look up.

“I was just . . . I didn’t think you’d finish so fast.”

He lets the silence drag on for longer than necessary before finally saying stiffly, “I didn’t have very much to unpack.”

He doesn’t actually see Tony squirm, but he imagines it well enough.

“Right.” Tony coughs. “So what are you reading?” he asks in a too hearty voice, and Steve holds up his book.

“ _How to Please your Dominant_ ,” he says, as if the title isn’t obvious on the cover, the picture showing the nape of a Submissive’s neck, bound by a collar.

“Ah,” Tony says weakly, and maybe Steve was mis-typed, because he’s having way too much fun with this. “Good—good choice. Are you hungry at all?” he asks in an obvious change of subject. “‘Cause I’m starving.”

Steve decides to show some mercy. “I could eat,” he says and carefully places his bookmark inside to save his place. Then he remembers. “Shouldn’t we wait for Jarvis, though?” he asks, because whoever Jarvis is, he wouldn’t know anything about Steve, and it seems impolite to exclude him when he might have been expecting to come back and share lunch with Tony.

“Wha— _ohhhh_. I didn’t get a chance to explain earlier. Jarvis isn’t a _person_. Not in the traditional sense anyway,” Tony says, smiling at Steve in such a way that it invites him to smile back, the tension from seconds ago already gone. “Although he’s definitely more human than a lot of people I’ve met. No, JARVIS is my AI.”

Steve frowns slightly.

“Artificial intelligence? Like a thinking computer? The letters of his name are actually an acronym and stand for ‘Just a Rather Very Intelligent System.’ He’s—you know what, let me just introduce you to him. Say hello to Steve, JARVIS.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Rogers,” a masculine, disembodied British voice says, and Steve’s eyebrows go up.

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too,” he says, and he can’t deny it’s strange to be talking to a computer—although when he thinks about it, he’s not sure JARVIS is the most unique thing in the room. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve moved in,” he continues, because it . . . he? . . . was here first—and oh crap, does he know which room he chose? 

“Of course not, Sir. Your presence is much appreciated. I informed Mr. Stark just the other day that it was a sad state of affairs that a man of his advanced years and—”

“Hey! No comments from the peanut gallery,” Tony says, scowling. “I don’t pay you to have an opinion.”

“You don’t pay me at all, Sir.”

“All the more reason not to offer unsolicited advice then,” Tony says and then turns toward Steve. “JARVIS does a little bit of everything.”

There’s a quiet “ahem” in the background.

“Oh, alright. JARVIS basically does everything. Happy?”

“Ecstatic, Sir.”

“You can always ask me, of course, but if you need something right away and can’t find me or whatever, JARVIS knows where everything is and can answer pretty much any question you come up with—literally—so don’t be afraid to pipe up. And if you have any reservations because you’re worried about privacy, I hate to tell you that is a non-issue here. JARVIS monitors everything: there are cameras in all the common areas in the penthouse, although the bedroom and bathroom ones only kick in when the alarms are activated; he screens all incoming and outgoing data, including Internet searches; he even monitors household inventory items like napkins and soap so he knows when to order more. That being said, he doesn’t tell me any of it unless I ask him, and I would only ask him if there were some type of emergency. In other words, I’m not going to pry into your business.”

“Alright,” Steve says calmly, as if his mind isn’t whirring with everything Tony’s throwing at him. He’d expected less surveillance here than he’d had at SHIELD since this was Tony’s home and that had been a military institution, but he can adjust. It’s not like he ever had much privacy to begin with, going from orphanage to boarding house to the army. Besides, there’s nothing he’d do that he wouldn’t tell Tony about if he asked anyway. 

“Great. How about that lunch then?” He starts herding Steve towards the kitchen. “How do you feel about sandwiches? Everyone loves a good sandwich, right?”

Tony seems to have every type of meat and condiment known to man, and Steve piles his plate high. Ever since the serum, his appetite has increased tenfold, and while he can go for long stretches between eating, when he does eat, he tends to eat a lot. 

“Woah, take a second to breathe there,” Tony says when Steve starts assembling his fourth sandwich, and he glances at Tony’s plate to see he’s still working on his first.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says guiltily, putting the bread down back down.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t eat it,” Tony replies, pushing some turkey slices closer to him. “I’m just saying maybe you want to stop and chew every now and then. Take a drink even. While I _can_ perform the Heimlich, it’s not how I prefer to spend my lunch.” 

“No, I’m finished,” he says, embarrassed now. He’s gotten so used to eating in the cafeteria where all the servers expect him to come back for fifths or sixths, that he’s forgotten most people aren’t used to how much he eats. Or the way he eats. He knows better, but it’s habit to shovel food into his mouth, to make sure he gets his share before it’s all gone.

He wipes his mouth self-consciously with his napkin and feels every inch his nineteen years when he sees smears of mayonnaise and mustard, especially when he glances at Tony and doesn’t see so much as a crumb on his goatee. It’s mortifying.

“One, you’ve touched it, so now you have to eat it, because, yuck. Two, you could spend the whole next six months eating like that for every second of the day, and it still wouldn’t cost as much as the case of wine I bought at auction just last week. Three, all jokes aside, you’re still a growing boy—”

Steve winces when he hears that. He’d been feeling so proud of himself for how he was handling Tony, and now it seems like he’s lost all the ground he’d gained, with Tony not only referencing his age again but also the length of their contract.

“—and if you’re hungry, it’s your body’s way of telling you to eat.”

There’s just something about the words and the way Tony says them that makes Steve feel like he’s five years old again, and that’s a little bit horrifying.

“Four, and this isn’t exactly in line with the rest of the list, but I’m throwing it in there anyway, I don’t like being lied to. Not even for something as inconsequential as being finished with lunch. I know, I know, it wasn’t exactly a lie, more a sidestep really, but it still counts. Please don’t do it in the future.”

“Or what?” Steve asks, and he knows it’s stupid, he knows, but he does it anyway. How can this count? It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t. He _was_ finished. Maybe he’s still somewhat hungry, but it’s not the same thing, and there’s no reason he should feel like squirming in his seat. He might be young, but he’s been taking care of himself for a long time. Tony has no right to treat him like a child over something as ridiculous as this, and the unfairness of it is what pushes him to say, “You’ll _punish_ me for it?”

It hangs there in the air between them. Tony looks taken aback, and Steve can’t say what he’s feeling, embarrassment still, yes, that definitely, but also a little dismay that he just said what he said, and if he’s honest, some excitement as well, because surely Tony won’t let him get away with it. 

The last shrivels up quickly, because Tony looks . . . _disappointed_ , and he leans back slightly, as if to increase the space between them. Steve had thought the humiliation was bad, but he’d much prefer it to the way his stomach drops down to his feet in what feels remarkably like panic.

The thing is, he _likes_ Tony, likes his irreverent attitude and sarcastic humor, likes the laugh-lines around his eyes and the shape of his mouth, likes the way he’s willing to take in someone he barely knows instead of walking away. And he’s gotten the impression that Tony likes him back—doesn’t know what to do with him, yes, and doesn’t quite know how he found himself in this situation, but Tony doesn’t actually _mind_ it, not really.

The expression on his face, however, indicates that that’s changing, that Tony’s starting to regret contracting with Steve, and no. No he won’t let him.

Tony opens his mouth, but Steve doesn’t give him the chance to talk, doesn’t want to hear whatever words are going to come out. He slides to his knees on the floor, his hands on the arm of Tony’s chair. He’s never done this for anyone before, feels clumsy and embarrassed, and he doesn’t even know if this will just make Tony more upset since he’s rejected every overture Steve has made so far—but they’re both sitting down, and there’s no way to get any lower to show how sincere he is, and if he’s already going to give Tony everything, then what’s the point in holding this back? It might be his last chance to go on his knees for him, feels like Tony is making up his mind this very second about them, and Steve has to convince him that he’s worth keeping.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s talking too fast, can barely make out what he’s saying over the pounding in his ears, but it’s a race to finish before Tony speaks. “I didn’t mean it,” he says, searching Tony’s face for a sign that it’s okay. “I didn’t. I don’t know why I said that. I was just—but I wouldn’t. I won’t,” he promises, and he feels almost sick with the thought that he’s ruined this before it ever had the opportunity to begin.

It’s such a relief therefore when Tony’s eyes eventually start to soften, his hand coming to a rest over Steve’s, warm and reassuring; when he murmurs, “Alright,” the disappointment fading away in order to be replaced by a sort of bemused approval.

It feels like a balm to Steve’s wounds, that look, and it’s insane that he cares so much, that Tony can affect him like this when they barely know each other, but it’s true nonetheless. Although maybe it’s not so surprising. Tony is his first after all. Steve’s heard enough stories from other Submissives to know that a person’s first can be overwhelming, and it’s comforting to think that he’s never going to forget Tony even after all of this is over, that he’ll always have a special place in Steve’s memories.

“C’mon,” Tony says eventually. “You don’t have to stay down there.” He tugs lightly on Steve’s arm to get him up.

Steve doesn’t want to get up, though. It feels . . . nice to be on his knees. He would’ve thought it’d be more awkward, but it’s not. It’s relaxing. Satisfying. It’d be even better if he could put his head down on the arm of Tony’s chair, maybe even his lap if he were really lucky. Tony wouldn’t even have to do anything, could finish his lunch while Steve waited. He wouldn’t mind.

But he’s wary of doing something wrong, especially now, all the bravado that’s carried him along so far nowhere to be seen, so he climbs back into his chair and bites his tongue to keep from letting the “What if I want to?” slip free. Instead, he dutifully makes another sandwich, even if his appetite is well and truly gone, and he tries to ignore the tingling in his knees, as if ignoring it will make the ache go away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one day early since the last one was a couple of days late.

The problem with being good at military strategy is that it’s _military strategy_. The enemy does this; you do that. They go here; you cut them off there. It’s all about pinning down and ultimately conquering the opposing force, and it’s not too concerned with maintaining friendly relations—which was fine when fighting Red Skull, but it doesn’t translate as well as Steve had thought it would in regards to his current situation. 

Like the decision to move all his things into Tony’s room in a sort of Trojan Horse attack? Doesn’t seem like such a great idea anymore.

“Didn’t you say something about a swimming pool?” Steve asks after Tony’s finally finished with his lunch, and it seems impossible that there really could be a full-sized pool in the building, but he doesn’t think he imagined Tony mentioning it in the elevator. Hopefully, he can use as a way to distract Tony long enough to move his things before Tony realizes what he’s done. He’s pretty sure he remembers which of Tony’s clothes belonged in which drawers, so he shouldn’t even notice they’ve been moved. “And a gym?”

“Oh. Sure,” Tony says, and even though Steve can tell he’s surprised at his abrupt request, he still gamely gets to his feet. “Do you just want the tour, or would you like to use one of them right now? Both? There’s also a sauna and boxing ring, and I think a racquetball court or two in the employees’ levels, as well as some other stuff. JARVIS, remind me, what do we—”

“The tour is fine,” Steve says hastily. “And just whatever is close by. I don’t want to encroach on your employees’ space.”

“Oh, I doubt they’d mind too much,” Tony says under his breath and starts clearing the table.

Steve hurriedly rushes to help—he should’ve been the one to start cleaning up first—and they finish quickly.

“This way,” Tony says, taking a set of stairs down two flights, and wow, there really is a pool in the building. A really big pool, as a matter of fact, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides.

“I thought about putting it on the roof, but it just wouldn’t work,” Tony says, a trifle regretfully. 

“Do you swim a lot?” 

“Mmm, sometimes. I prefer the gym upstairs, and I keep a wooden dummy in the lab with me—not to be confused with DUM-E, who wouldn’t handle being beaten up well, no matter how much he deserves it.”

At Steve’s look, Tony waves his hand. “I’ll introduce you later.” 

Tony points out the hot tub, the changing area, where all the towels are, and the extra suits. “You know, just in case the urge overcomes you.” He heads towards the stairs, but Steve lags behind. This is his chance. He couldn’t ask for a better opening. 

“What if I _had_ changed my mind?” He realizes his hands are practically curled into fists and consciously relaxes them. “Would you go in with me?”

Tony’s eyebrows go up. “Right now?”

“Yes,” he says, wondering if he should add a “please” but deciding against it, too conscious of how it would come across, even if he’s being sincere.

“Sure,” Tony says slowly, drawing out the word. “Why not? Although suits are required,” he adds quickly. “And you change in the changing room.”

“Alright,” Steve says, and he smiles in relief. He pulls out the drawer with the swim trunks before Tony can suggest they go upstairs to change and pulls out a pair that look like they’re Tony’s size. “After you,” he says.

Tony gives him an odd look before accepting, but he takes them, and as soon as the door to the changing room closes behind him, Steve sprints towards the stairs.

He should have several minutes before Tony comes looking for him, and as he really doesn’t have many things, that should be enough.

JARVIS is thankfully silent when he goes inside the penthouse and continues to not say a word as Steve pulls out his duffel bag and starts throwing his things in, hangars and all. He can’t believe he’d put his underwear in the same dresser as Tony’s. What had he been thinking?

He’s tries to be much more careful with Tony’s clothes than he’d been with his and is just straightening out a few shirts that had gotten squished together while he’d been making room for his own stuff when he hears, “What are you doing?”

Steve twists around, staring at Tony standing framed in the closet doorway. “I—” He’s not sure what this looks like, but it has to be strange, whatever it comes across as. Both Tony’s voice and expression are pretty mild, but that doesn’t mean he’s not angry, although at least the disapproval from before isn’t there. Steve is ridiculously grateful for that. “I’m just—”

Tony walks all the way into the closet, and oh. 

He’s naked.

Okay, not naked. It’s completely appropriate that Tony’s only wearing trunks considering they’d been planning to go swimming, and they’re actually a lot longer than Steve’s accustomed to seeing men wear—although if he factors in the length of the pair that Nick had given him, he thinks that’s just the fashion nowadays. So there’s no reason for his mouth to be so dry, he thinks, swallowing heavily. Except for nerves, of course. It’s perfectly understandable that he be nervous. Really . . . really nervous.

“Are you moving in? Or out?” Tony asks, looking from Steve’s bag on the ground to the open drawer, idly curious, and it snaps Steve’s attention to where it belongs.

“Out, Sir,” he says, body straightening, and he doesn’t go into full “attention” stance, but it’s close. For all of his time spent in the army, Steve hadn’t actually done much in the way of formal training, what with the serum and the fundraising tour and then lastly, the war itself. But he has two responses to getting into trouble—fighting back like he’d done most of his life, or submitting like he’d learned to do in the military—and he’s not going to do the former with Tony. So he gets into position, settling into the mindset for accepting his punishment and then moving on, and tries to ignore the worry that he’s already made too many mistakes in the short time they’ve known each other for Tony to let pass by.

“Out. I see.” Tony moves forward until his suit is brushing against Steve’s leg, but Steve keeps his eyes firmly forward, even parts his lips slightly so he can breathe through his mouth when Tony’s cologne gets too distracting. 

“Hmm,” Tony hums thoughtfully as he rummages within the drawer. He pulls back so there’s room between them, but not enough in Steve’s opinion. “JARVIS, what did I tell Steve about choosing a room?”

“Pick a room, any room, and unpack,” Tony’s voice comes back to them, and Tony rolls his eyes. “Of course I did,” he says, seemingly to himself. “So why did you change your mind?” he asks, and this time, Steve knows he’s addressing him.

He forces himself to answer, but it’s so hard to be honest, to say, “I didn’t want to disappoint you again, Sir,” the words and the truth behind them too enormous to get out properly. He keeps his eyes locked on a point on the wall and has to struggle to maintain his stance, a part of him just wanting to go and lick his wounds somewhere alone. At least it’s done, though. Whatever Tony might decide to do to him, at least the worst of it’s over.

Tony’s quiet for a long time as he thinks things through, and he seems almost reluctant when he says, “So the swimming? That wasn’t real—?”

Steve doesn’t know what expression he has on his face when he whips his head around to look at Tony then, but whatever it is, it has Tony immediately saying, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Steve, it’s okay.”

“I didn’t—I was going to come back. I was—I _did_ want to, but—”

“It’s _alright_ ,” Tony says, and he would argue with him, because it’s _not_ alright, because everything is _wrong_ —

Except Tony grabs his wrist gently, and Steve freezes. 

It’s the first time Tony’s ever touched him.

“C’mon. We need to clear some stuff up,” Tony says, pulling him towards the door, and Steve follows dumbly, Tony’s fingers burning a brand into his skin.

\-----

“Okay, first things first,” Tony says once they’re sitting down, and Steve doesn’t know where to look, because they’re sitting much too close to each other, and Tony’s still almost naked. Not to mention the fact that he’s still holding on his wrist, and Steve—

Steve likes that more than he thinks he should. 

“I’m not angry.”

Steve glances at Tony and then away.

“I’m not,” Tony says, squeezing his wrist. “Intentions mean a lot, and you weren’t _trying_ to lie to me. Manipulate me, yes, obviously, but everyone wants to arrange things to be a little bit easier for them, and I’m not sadistic enough to prohibit it just so I can watch you fail. Besides,” he says, and here he smiles, “I like seeing what you come up with.”

“What . . . what do you mean?” Steve asks, looking at him sidelong.

Tony snorts. “Like you don’t know. Look, you want . . . something . . . from me,” he says, making it very clear what that is. “I would be lying my ass off if I said I wasn’t tempted,” he says, the words too casual for the impact they have on Steve. It was one thing to suspect; another to hear the confirmation directly from Tony’s mouth. 

“But it doesn’t always matter what either you or I want, because for one reason or another, it’s not the right thing to do. Now, before you argue,” Tony continues wryly, as Steve automatically opens his mouth to do just that, “I will admit that I’m not in the habit of doing the right thing as much as I should be, especially when I’m already on the fence about it, and especially, _especially_ when I’m being tempted by someone who looks like you. I’m not exactly famous for my self-restraint, you know.” 

Steve stares at him with wide eyes. 

Tony’s expression softens, and he sighs, reaching up with his free hand to trace his thumb lightly down Steve’s jaw. “All jokes aside, I’d forgotten what it’s like to be so young, when everything matters _so much_ and even a hint of rejection can cut to the bone. But you’ve got your life in front of you, Steve, and you deserve more than _this_. You are . . .” 

Tony doesn’t finish his sentence, just smiles a little sadly and shakes his head. 

“All that being said, everyone should have the right to choose who they want to be with, and if you want to use that choice on me, then so be it. I’m done trying to take that away from you. I haven’t made my decision, however. Not yet,” he says, even as his hands—so warm on Steve’s body—promise that it’s just a matter of time.

“You’re just going to have to convince me that my conscience should take a hike,” Tony says, his mouth crooking up in invitation. “But there are rules,” he says, tightening his hand as if to get Steve’s attention, when his attention is already entirely focused on him. 

“One, no lying. An accident is one thing; purposefully avoiding thinking things through so you can claim you didn’t realize is something completely different.”

He nods quickly, forcing himself to concentrate. This is important. He won’t make the same mistake again. 

“Two, no nakedness. Like any reputable establishment, Stark Tower endorses the whole, ‘No shirt, no shoes, no service’ philosophy, except we’re substituting pants or shorts for the shoes in your case.”

That makes Steve’s lips tilt up slightly, because Tony looks anything but resolved about this rule, and his disgruntled virtuousness is a sight to see. There is a wealth of difference between naked and completely covered, and he wonders if Tony is aware of all the possibilities he’s leaving open to him.

Considering Tony’s still just sitting there without a shirt on—and he has to wrench his eyes back up, because he can’t allow himself to become preoccupied with the flex of muscles in Tony’s chest or the way the light from the arc reactor makes everything glow softly—Steve rather thinks he is.

“Three, mental seduction is allowed, but physical is not. In other words, no surprise kissing, inappropriate touching, or trying to walk in on me in the shower. Not that I think you would, but it needs to be said.”

Steve would never even _consider_ doing something like that, but he understands why Tony would mention it, so he nods anyway.

“Four, you pick a safeword and use it when you feel uncomfortable—and I’m talking about in any situation, not just if you change your mind about sleeping with me. You really don’t want to go with me to a meeting or event, or you’re feeling surrounded by too many people, or hell, your feet hurt and you just want to come home, those are all perfectly reasonable times to use your safeword. I’d rather you lean in the direction of using it too much than not enough, especially at first.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve says, and he doesn’t know who’s seducing whom anymore. With every word that comes out of Tony’s mouth, he’s finding himself more and more certain that this is what he wants—that Tony is who he wants.

“And five, I get to add more rules as I see fit. Okay then!” Tony says, standing and finally releasing his wrist. Steve has to stop the sound of protest that tries to escape.

“I hate feeling like I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go, so I’m heading back to the pool. You’re welcome to join me or not. As for the sleeping situation, however, feel free to pick a room that is _not_ mine,” he says, walking backwards toward the staircase. “In the future, however, if you’re able to find a loophole in something I say, then go for it. It’ll be my own fault if I don’t catch it, and I’ll just have to live with the consequences. Let the games begin!” he proclaims with a flourish, and then he grins at Steve and jogs down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are love (and get me wanting to write more. I'm just saying...).


	5. Chapter 5

Steve, of course, picks the room right next to Tony’s, dumping his bag onto the bed before changing for the pool as fast as he can. He’s not going to miss out on an opportunity to swim with Tony. Especially not after Tony has said he wants him back. He can’t begin to describe what that knowledge does to him.

He assumes that it’s just going to be a matter of days before things progress to where they should be. Tony has as much as said that he wants Steve to win their battle of wills, after all, and he feels excited and nervous and almost like he might be a little sick, but in an oddly good way, even if that doesn’t make the most sense.

He’s going to submit to Tony. With the number of butterflies in his stomach right now, it’s amazing he doesn’t float off into the air.

It doesn’t help his equilibrium to discover that Tony is an excellent swimmer, cutting through the water smoothly, everything tan and glistening. Steve can swim, but he’s not great at it. It was always hard staying afloat because he was so skinny, and the asthma had made holding his breath a challenge. He’d learned enough to not drown, and he’s gotten considerably better since the serum, but he doesn’t swim with the ease that Tony displays.

It’s very . . . appealing . . . to watch Tony move, to know that Tony’s given him permission to do so. To know that one day very soon, he’ll be more than watching. He’ll get to put his hands all over Tony’s body, his mouth—

He reins his thoughts in quickly, blushing hot enough that it’s a relief to slide into the cool water. The heat flares right back up as soon as Tony glances at him, and Steve can admit to being more than a little flustered.

It doesn’t help that after their conversation, it’s starting to feel like swimming with Tony is a date, and there’s that nauseous feeling again. Steve has never been on a date in his life. Well, not including the blind dates Bucky had forced on him, where his “date” had spent the whole night looking at him in disappointment and been more interested in whatever Bucky had to say—he falters for a second, recalling that the last time it’d happened, Bucky had been in his dress uniform and just told him he was shipping out.

He has to wrench this thoughts away from that track, his eyes snapping back to Tony like a lifeline. He concentrates on imagining what a real date with Tony would be like, where they could go, what they’d do. It’d have to be somewhere safe, somewhere that wouldn’t bring up old memories—

His mouth goes a little slack as Tony puts his hands on the edge of the pool and pushes himself up, water streaming down his body. Tony has . . . really nice arms. And obviously Steve had noticed this before in Tony’s room, but he’s not sure he’d realized _how_ nice they are. 

His shorts are also very clingy. _Very_ clingy. They don’t hide much at all actually.

“That’s it for me,” Tony says, and Steve looks at the clock on the wall in surprise, because he only just got there—

Did he really just spend the past twenty minutes staring at Tony? How had that happened?

A noise has him glancing back in time to see Tony push his wet hair back as he starts walking towards him, and oh crap. Steve starts treading a little faster, trying to make it difficult to see into the water. He’s not hard exactly, but he’s not _not hard_ either, and with Tony coming closer, it’s better to be safe than sorry. “I’m starting to feel waterlogged. What about you?”

“Oh, I’d like to stay here for a bit longer,” he says, voice a little too high as he resolutely looks up, up, up until he’s reached Tony’s face. His stomach clenches as their eyes meet, and there’s nothing in Tony’s gaze that seems different—although maybe he’s more amused than normal, and Steve flushes at the thought that Tony had caught him ogling him—but it _feels_ more significant now. He finds himself moving toward the edge of the pool before he thinks about what he’s doing, embarrassment fading in the desire to just be nearer to him. 

Tony’s standing so far above him, however, that he has to crane his neck back a little to keep eye contact. If he’d thought the vague ideas he’d had of touching Tony were bad, the sudden image he gets of Tony pulling his head back, gripping his hair and forcing him to look up at him is one hundred times worse.

Steve’s eyes widen, and there’s no longer any debate about hard versus not hard. It’s all he can do not to sink under the water. 

Tony lifts one eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“No,” he croaks and has to clear his throat.

“Okay,” Tony says, drawing out the word and conveying his disbelief. “Well, take your time. Just come find me when you’re ready. You can ask JARVIS if I’m not in the penthouse, but I’ll probably be there.”

“Alright, thank you,” Steve says, and there, he sounds mostly normal. If he could just stop staring at the water dripping down Tony’s neck, he’d probably be all the way there. 

He waits until Tony’s gone before submerging, covering his face with his hands, bubbles carrying his groan floating up to the surface. He’s vividly reminded of Tony’s joke from earlier that morning, about how puberty was kicking him in the balls, but puberty had never been this bad.

It’s as if now that the possibility of submitting is within his grasp, it’s all he can think about: being on his knees, being naked, being _used_ —

Steve pushes off from the bottom and immediately starts swimming, determined to drown his thoughts for a while.

Just a few days, he reminds himself and swims even faster.

\-----

Except nothing happens the next day. Or the day after that. Nothing happens for a week, and Steve doesn’t know what to do.

He plays Tony’s words over and over again in his head, and they’d seemed so promising at first, but now he’s wondering. He knows how fallible memory can be. Had he misunderstood somehow? Does Tony really want him?

He knows the rules are real, knows that Tony has agreed to let Steve try and seduce him, but did he do that for his own benefit, or to humor Steve somehow? He can’t exactly come out and ask him, not without completely swallowing his pride—although as each day passes, he begins to wonder if it’d be worth it anyway, especially considering how little pride he has left.

He shifts in his chair, embarrassed to recall how eager he’d been the first day, so overcome by the idea of touching Tony that he’d been convinced Tony had to feel the same. He’d changed into one of the guest swim shorts after he’d finished his laps, feeling slightly guilty about doing so but not wanting to drip over Tony’s floors, and he’d paraded around the penthouse in them for almost two hours, self-conscious and a little cold and desperately hoping that Tony was watching him even half as much as he watched him.

Tony might have looked, but he didn’t throw himself at Steve like a part of him had been expecting him to, hadn’t commented on his attire other than an absent minded, “Planning to swim again?” 

And the next day, Tony had taken him to the gym, and he’d worn one of his tightest shirts and used the opportunity to show off his muscles whenever he could. The amount of flexing he’d been doing had been truly mortifying. He’d even grappled with Tony, thinking that the rubbing and skin-to-skin contact would have an effect on him—it definitely had had an effect on Steve—but Tony . . . Tony had seemed frustrated more than anything, and not in a good way. 

He worries now that he should’ve let Tony win once or twice, but he’d been trying to impress Tony with his prowess, and furthermore, it seems dishonest.

Since then, he’s tried every position he could think of to show off his body, lounging on the couch, draping himself over counters, dropping things and bending over to pick them up, but none of it’s been working. If he didn’t remember the way Tony had looked at him when he’d taken off his shirt the first time, he’d think Tony didn’t find Steve’s body appealing, but he does and Tony _had_ —

He’s interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

—and now to make everything ten times worse, Tony’s invited his friends over.

On the one hand, it actually makes Steve kind of happy, because these are people who are important to Tony and he wants them to meet Steve. On the other hand, it drives him insane, because he can’t exactly do much in the way of getting Tony’s attention while there are other people around, and it’s a lot of pressure to get to know Tony’s friends when he barely knows Tony really, and . . . and what if they don’t like him?

He watches from a distance as Tony opens the door to greet his guests.

He doubts they have the clearance to be aware of his history, and from an outsider’s perspective, he can imagine what this looks like. Tony is handsome and incredibly intelligent and one of the wealthiest men in the world apparently, and here’s Steve, nineteen and definitely not anywhere as smart as Tony, or as wealthy—even if he’s gotten back pay for the seventy years he was asleep—with no experience subbing for anyone. The only thing he’s got going for him is his body, and maybe it’d bother him less that they’re going to assume he’s only there for sex if he were actually _having_ sex, but he’s not, and it’s kind of—

“I cannot believe that you signed a contract without even telling me,” he hears, and he raises his eyebrows as a lovely blonde woman whom he recognizes as Pepper Potts comes in and smacks Tony across the side of his head.

“Hi, Pepper. So glad you could make it,” Tony says, mock-scowling as he smooths down his hair. “I don’t know why I don’t have you over more frequently. Don’t even think about it,” he warns the husky man—Happy Hogan, Steve recalls—who follows her. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would never damage the hair. Now, your face, on the other hand, there’s already so much wear and tear—”

“Oh my goodness, he’s a baby. Tony. He’s a _baby_ ,” Ms. Potts says, and this might actually be the most humiliating moment of Steve’s life. 

“I’m nineteen, ma’am,” he says as politely as he can manage, and if anything, she looks more upset. The man next to Tony, on the other hand, gives Tony an approving nod and a thumbs up.

“Will you stop?” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “And you,” he says, pointing to the guy who’s still nodding absently while he looks Steve up and down, “need to stop even more. I can explain everything. Steve is currently Dominant-less. He’s just come back from battle, and with the government’s policy on veteran Submissives, Fury asked me to take over his guardianship. No biggie.”

“But why would he ask you?” they ask, one right on top of the other, and it’d almost be funny if Steve weren’t insulted on Tony’s behalf. Tony is a great Dominant. Steve might not have any experience with anyone else, but even he can see that.

“And that’s a little more complicated,” Tony says, hedging, looking at Steve quickly and then looking away. “Steve, do you mind getting the rest of food from the kitchen and putting it on the table?

Steve doesn’t let his expression change as he says, “Yes, Sir,” and walks toward the kitchen, but he can’t help but feel surprised. Tony can’t be planning to tell them about Steve. Can he? Why else would he want Steve to leave the room, though? Most of the food is already laid out, and Tony hasn’t even properly introduced everyone yet. 

They are very close, though. In all the news clips he’s seen, it’s been more uncommon to not see one or the both of them close to Tony than the other way around, and Steve knows if their situations had been reversed, he wouldn’t have wanted to keep secrets about something this important from . . . from Bucky. Or the Commandoes. From Peggy.

He shies away from the pain of that thought. Now. He has to focus on now. And that means doing what Tony’s asked; being good for him, because he needs to be good and have it matter.

The loud “ _What_?” he hears a minute later and the even louder “You let me perv on _Captain America_?” he hears a few seconds after that confirm that the cat’s out of the bag. He almost goes back when he hears the flurry of slapping and Tony’s subsequent yelps of pain, but it stops before he makes up his mind, and everything goes quiet.

They all make their way over a little while later, reserved, although Ms. Potts gives him a reassuring smile and Tony winks at him. Mr. Hogan avoids looking at him altogether, a red flush staining his cheeks.

“So I think introductions are in order,” Tony says, as if nothing’s happened, and that sets the tone for the rest of their visit. Neither Pepper or Happy—as they insist he calls them—ever comment on what they’ve heard, but it’s not uncomfortable, the big elephant standing in the room. They treat him like he’s from out of town, telling him all the places he needs to try out—the hole-in-the-wall deli that serves pastrami that practically melts in your mouth, the bakery that offers fruit tarts worth crying over—and they tease each other, inviting him to participate without pressuring him. 

“I was starting to wonder if you knew what a vegetable was,” Happy says, munching on a cherry tomato. “It must be Steve’s influence on you,” he says, glancing quickly at him.

Steve’s trying to come up with something to respond with when Tony says, “Yeah, because you’re Mr. Healthy Living,” looking significantly at the pile of cookies next to him.

“What? I didn’t put those there!” Happy protests, although Steve notices he doesn’t move them either.

“And anyway, tomatoes are fruit.”

“No!” Happy gasps, looking betrayed.

It’s only when they’re in Tony’s lab with Tony showing off a prototype he’s been working on that one of them comes up to him separately. To his surprise, it’s Happy.

“You know, so, sorry about the . . .” and Happy makes a gesture that Steve takes is supposed to cover the earlier eyeing.

“No problem,” he says and means it. Happy seems like a nice guy, even if he comes off a little rough around the edges, and it’s obvious he’s good friends with Tony.

“You adjusting?” Happy asks, and Steve can’t tell if it’s a reference to waking up in the twenty first century or to his contract with Tony. Maybe it’s both.

He makes a noncommittal sound, but then adds, “Tony’s been very good to me,” because it’s true, and because he feels almost defensive on his behalf after their initial reactions to hearing Nick had asked Tony specifically to watch over Steve.

“I’m sure he has been,” Happy says. “Tony is a wonderful Dominant.”

And there’s something about the tone of his voice that implies he knows, that he’s not making a general statement but a very specific one, and Steve’s eyes immediately go the band on Happy’s wrist, the red indicating he’s a Submissive.

Happy catches him at it and flails a little. “What? Oh hell no! Not me and Tony—no. Just no. Now Tony and _Pepper_ , on the other hand—”

Steve has no idea what expression goes across his face before he wipes it clean, but whatever it is, it makes Happy’s eyes go wide. 

“But they broke up a long time ago! Ages ago really. And they only dated for a year—not even a year! A few months. I mean, I blinked, and they weren’t together anymore.”

Steve doesn’t say anything.

“Just not compatible, you know? Not in the long term,” Happy babbles. “What with Tony’s pain kinks—not that he’s a sadist or anything! Don’t think that! Not that you guys are going to—but if you were—even though you’re not. A little whipping here and there. Caning sometimes. I mean, he rarely draws any blood—”

“Steve?” Tony calls, and Happy mutters, “Oh, thank fuck,” covering his eyes.

The rest of the visit passes without incident, and Pepper gives him warm smile and tells him to call her if he needs anything, with Happy echoing the offer. Steve thanks them, but he can admit to being distracted and for good reason.

Pain kinks.

Steve has a lot to think about.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I got sick, and the next thing I know, everyone in the house is sick, and then blah, blah, blah, more excuses, and here we are almost a month later. >_>
> 
> This is a very short chapter, but I'll post another one later this week to make up for it. Also, for those of you who are curious, I've started the next chapter of Nostalgia. :)

He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about being hurt for a Dominant’s pleasure. It’d all been rather hazy, however, half-formed fantasies playing through his mind while he took himself in hand. He’d been so sick growing up that he hadn’t really believed it would ever happen, and while he hadn’t abandoned the thoughts completely, he hadn’t focused on them very much either. Now, though . . .

He stares at his naked chest in the mirror. It’s a sturdy body, one that’s already gone through a lot of pain but can handle a lot more. He’s never gotten excited from being hurt before, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen. He’s seen a self-avowed masochist curse a blue streak and hop around because of a stubbed toe, and he imagines the company you’re with and what you’re doing at the time makes all the difference in whether or not something feels good.

He thinks back to Happy’s remark about Tony and Pepper not being compatible in the long-term. Which means that this is something Tony needs in a relationship. And it’s not as if Steve is planning for the future, but . . .

But it would be nice if he could give Tony what he needs.

He waits until later that night to try anything, after he’s retired to his room and safe behind the sound-proofed walls. 

Happy had mentioned whipping and caning, and he tries to think about what that would be like, but he can’t do it. Nothing like that has ever happened to him before, and he has no frame of reference for how it would feel. So he tries to envision something a little less severe, like a spanking—he’s seen enough dirty pictures of those to know what to expect—and he gets as far as being naked and bent over Tony’s lap before his mind veers off in a direction that has nothing to do with corporal punishment. The same thing happens the second time he tries to picture it and the third, and finally he decides he should maybe think about something a little less stimulating the first time around.

He finally settles on Tony straddling his chest with both of them clothed, Steve pinned underneath him. It’s not exactly an innocent position, but it’ll do. He even gets up and pulls an extra blanket he’d noticed before out of the closet and folds it several times before draping it over his torso in order to try and mimic the weight. It’s not right, but it helps. 

He thinks about what it would feel like if Tony were to slap him, no anger in the blow, just casually, because Tony wants to. 

Steve feels ridiculous, but he slaps himself a little in order to see what it might feel like, and it’s more of a sting than anything else, there and gone. He does it again, a little more pressure this time, because Tony might want to do it harder. It doesn’t really do anything for him, but he’s not put off by it either, and if Tony likes it . . .

He glances at the door that separates their rooms, locked from Tony’s side. He knows, because he checked out of curiosity. There’s no way to lock Tony out from his side, however, no way to stop Tony from coming in, and Steve lets out a slow breath, enjoying that thought very much. 

He wonders what Tony would do if he were to walk in right now without Steve noticing, what he’d say if he were to see Steve hit himself. The low-level embarrassment that’s accompanied every strike he’s delivered spikes up, and Steve shivers.

The next time he slaps himself, it’s even harder, and he knows his cheek has to be red, knows that Tony would realize what he’s been up to if he saw his face, even if he didn’t see the act itself.

Tony’s not going to walk in unannounced, however, and even if the thought of it is appealing, Steve decides to go back to imagining what it’d be like if Tony were on top of him and was the one delivering the blows.

Maybe Tony would smile afterward, lick his lips. Maybe he’d kiss Steve then, tug on his hair in order to tilt his head back into the position he wants him. Maybe Tony would alternate the two, slaps and kisses, rewarding him for putting up with the minor pain until Steve was dizzy with it, wanting more and more of Tony’s touch, however he was willing to give it to him.

He shifts a little on the bed, and the next slap is harder than he’d intended, enough that he makes an involuntary sound and he has to widen his eyes so they don’t start watering.

Tony would probably like that. Barely any blood, Happy had said. Tony would probably like to make him react, to make him cry out. Hell, make him cry period.

That is surprisingly easy to picture, tears starting to slide down his face, Tony following the path they take with his fingers and looking all too satisfied with himself.

His cheek throbs.

Tony would probably move on after that, would—

He would . . .

What _would_ he do next?

The slapping had been more vivid than he’d expected, although he supposes a lot of that had been because he’d been acting it out somewhat, and he can imagine the sex—quite easily as a matter of fact, he admits to himself ruefully—but all the in-between is a blur to him. It doesn’t stop him from wondering, however, and he’s still awake almost an hour later, restless, his blood thrumming from all the scenarios he’s conjured up. He hasn’t really answered the question of whether he’s a good match for Tony, but he’s willing to find out. More than willing. 

It’d probably be easier to fall asleep if he relieved some of the tension that’s accumulated, but he hasn’t touched himself like that since he’d started living with Tony. It’s another one of those things that his friend had told him Submissives weren’t allowed to do, and it’s one that he actually likes. Sort of. It’s torture in one way, but in another . . .

He likes the idea of suffering for Tony, of only being allowed to come when Tony tells him he can. It’s not easy, but nothing in life worth having is, and he thinks Tony will appreciate it when he finds out, that Steve has been trying his best to please him from the very beginning.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another very short chapter, but the next chapter will be much longer.

Happy calls a couple of days later. It’s a surprise to say the least, not because Steve had thought he was being insincere when he’d told him to call if he needed anything, but because it’s one thing to make an offer that you never expect to be taken, it’s another to reach out yourself.

Their conversation starts out awkwardly, but they find a middle ground in sports, and Happy’s telling him what he thinks the Yankees chances are this season when Tony walks by.

“Are you two _still_ talking?” Tony asks, but his tone is indulgent. 

Steve tells himself to stop looking at Tony like some kind of besotted jackass, but he can’t help it. Tony had taken him flying last night, had held him tight and spent hours in the air with him, and Steve had initially blamed his dizziness on the speed and the crazy stunts Tony had pulled—except he still hasn’t recovered, and it’s hard to make himself care.

“You’re just jealous I called Steve instead of you,” Happy says, looking smugly superior on the screen.

Tony laughs and says, “Hey, if Steve wants to subject himself to you for an extended period of time, then it just goes to show he’s got masochistic tendencies, and that’s always good to know.” He winks at Steve before he leaves the room, and even though Steve knows he’s joking around, it still makes his heart beat a little faster.

“You, uh, you really like him, huh?” Happy asks, and Steve jumps guiltily, looking back at him. He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring forlornly at the door, like a puppy waiting for his master to return—and it doesn’t seem to matter that he’d been the one to make the comparison; he still flushes deeply at it.

“Yes,” he says steadily, trying to salvage what little dignity he has left. There’s a part of him that wants to offer up some kind of excuse: that he’d been in an untenable position, that he’s making the best out of a bad situation. But while both of them are true, they’re quickly becoming the least important of his reasons for staying.

“Good,” Happy says, and he looks like he means it. “That’s good. Tony needs a strong Submissive to keep him line.” He glances around the room and lowers his voice. “So have you two . . . you know—”

Steve takes a second before answering, and he tries, and he tries, but the blush comes back full force. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to—”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I mean, I know Tony, and I might not know you very well yet, but hell, look at you. Why would Tony—well, unless you’re the one saying no? From the way you were staring after him, though, I kind of thought—”

“Happy. This really has nothing to do—”

“Is it the Captain America thing? Is he worried about sullying your virtue?”

“That’s not—look, I’m really don’t think—”

“Or the height difference?” Happy asks, barreling on. “Is he not muscular enough for you? I know some male Submissives get it in their heads that their Dominant has to be bigger and brawnier, but if you take into account the size of Tony’s brain, not to mention his ego—”

“ _Happy._ ”

“Okay, okay,” Happy says, putting his hands up in the air. “You don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to talk about it. I just thought you’d like to be able to pick the brain of one of Tony’s oldest friends is all. It’s not like I’ve known Tony for over ten years or anything. Or seen him pick up Submissive after Submissive after Dominant after Submissive. The stories I could tell you.”

Steve blinks. “Tony’s dated other Dominants?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Happy folds his arms across his chest. He relents a second later. “But yeah, every now and then. All the best Dominants have submitted, after all, and Tony likes to be the best in everything he does. Although to be fair, I should admit that he’s not always on the receiving end of things when he goes out with other Dominants. Fifty-fifty? I don’t know. Some details are good, but I really don’t need a blow-by-blow—”

“It’s my age,” Steve says, interrupting, because he doesn’t want to know too much about Tony’s sex life, especially since it doesn’t include him, and because Happy’s right. There’s a part of him that dearly wants someone to talk to about this. “Tony doesn’t want to do anything, because he thinks I’m too young.”

“What? Just how old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Oh.” Happy’s face turns a little thoughtful. “I suppose that is a little bit on the sleazy side. It doesn’t even meet the age rule. But still! You fought in a fucking war! If you’re old enough to put your life on the line, you’d think you’d be old enough to know if you want to put your _ass_ on the—er, pardon my French.”

“It’s fine,” Steve says. Like he hasn’t heard that and worse. “But yes, I agree. In theory, I think Tony agrees as well.”

“But it’s different when it’s Captain America.”

“But it’s different, I suppose, when it’s Captain America,” Steve says, although he doesn’t see why.

“So that’s it? That’s all she wrote? You two are going to ride off into the sunset to live a life of platonic friendship and blue ba—um, unrequited lust?”

That should be the end of the conversation. But Steve finds himself saying, “Not . . . exactly.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I almost forgot to post today. Whoops?
> 
> As promised, a longer chapter. I also have 2K of the next chapter of Nostalgia written, yay, me!

“You want to take Steve clothes shopping? You,” Tony says, disbelief heavy in his voice. 

“What’s wrong with me taking him shopping?”

“Nothing. Other than the fact that you _hate_ it. That you loathe it with a loathing that is more than a loathing—”

“I can do what I want,” Happy says, sulking.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your—wait, is Pepper going to be there?”

“Of course she is.”

“Well why didn’t you say that so the first place? Okay, if it means that much to you, and Steve actually wants to go, then feel free to go crazy. You do actually want to go, right?” Tony asks Steve, looking amused. “He’s not just railroading you into this?”

Steve swallows and says levelly, “I wouldn’t mind buying one or two things that you might like.” He swallows again when Tony’s eyes darken, but all Tony says is, “Is that so?” 

There’s a moment when Steve’s almost sure Tony is going to say he’ll take him himself, will put Steve in clothes he’s chosen for him and make him stand in front of him, on display, as Tony voices whether or not he meets with his approval—but then Tony clears his throat and slaps Happy on the back, wishing them both luck.

Which is how Steve finds himself in a private sitting room of some incredibly swanky clothing store where the two sales attendants he’s seen are both been wearing clothes that probably cost more than any ten outfits he’s owned, with the possible exception of the Captain America suit. 

He feels underdressed and uncomfortable, and if he’s honest, he’s a little guilty that he’s here with Happy and Pepper under false pretenses. He’s not actually lying. He is planning to buy some things (although maybe not at this particular store) to catch Tony’s eye. The fact that this is also some kind of secret meeting shouldn’t make him feel bad, especially since Tony’s given him the leeway to do whatever he doesn’t outright prohibit. Besides, he seriously doubts that Tony doesn’t suspect an ulterior motive behind their outing, and if it’s not explicit permission to strategize how to seduce him, it’s close enough. So he doesn’t know why he feels so off about everything—and then it hits him.

Tony’s not here. 

It makes no sense. He’s spent all of two weeks in Tony’s company, which is barely any time at all, even if they’re basically living in each other’s pockets. He shouldn’t miss him.

But he does, and he wishes now that he’d taken Tony up on the offer of the bracelet, just to have something of his on him.

_“So I got something for you,” Tony says, ten minutes before Happy’s supposed to get there, and he looks embarrassed._

_“You did?” Steve says, because why would Tony do that?_

_“It’s a . . . well, you know, since you’re going out without me, you should . . . I mean, it doesn’t really matter. You’re going to be with Happy and Pepper the whole time, and it’s not like you can’t take care of yourself, even if they weren’t. But still,” Tony says, and with that helpful explanation, he pulls a small box out from behind him._

_“It’s a bracelet,” Tony explains needlessly, after Steve’s opened the box and hasn’t said anything._

_Steve nods and lifts it out, turning it around._

_It’s beautiful, all gold with the exception of one band of blue running around the center, and it’s obviously expensive. Steve knows he should be more appreciative of the gesture. But it’s just an identifying bracelet. Tony hadn’t given him a claiming bracelet to go along with it to show they were contracted, and while it’s lovely and Tony spent a lot of money on it, he doesn’t want it. It’s actually surprising how much he dislikes it._

_“Thank you, Tony, but I’d prefer not to wear it,” he says as politely as he can and places it gently back into the box._

_There’s a little pause before Tony says, “Sure,” smiling and snapping the box closed. “Not a problem. I’ll just have it sent back.”_

_There’s nothing about Tony’s expression or voice that changes, but Steve has the sinking feeling that he’s made a mistake. Tony had been thoughtful enough to get it for him, and just because it’s not what Steve wanted him to give him, shouldn’t that be enough?_

_“It’s not that I—”_

_“Oh, I know,” Tony says, waving his hand. “It’s not a big deal. If anything, you should be worrying about where Happy and Pepper are going to take you today. You just think you’ve experienced exhaustion, but that’s just because you’ve never gone shoe shopping with Pepper before. That woman will run you to the ground.”_

_Steve had been willing drop the subject at the time, but he regrets it now. He should’ve explained._

“Okay,” Happy says, and Steve reluctantly shifts his focus to him. “Tell her what you told me.”

It’s been two days since Steve revealed his deal with Tony to Happy, and he’s regretting saying anything more and more.

“I don’t think Pepper wants to hear—”

“Oh, I want to hear alright,” she says, leaning forward with a wide smile. “I want to hear everything.”

So he tells her, just like he’d told Happy, that Tony wants him, but he doesn’t want to want him. That Tony’s offering the chance to tip the scales. That all he has to do is convince Tony in order to win.

“Oh my goodness, why is he such an asshole?” Pepper says, covering her face with her hand.

Steve looked toward Happy.

“I mean, he’s asking you to—when he knows that you’ve never—and he’s just sitting back and watching? Are you kidding me?” 

“Look, I agree, it’s not his brightest idea ever,” Happy begins.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Happy,” Pepper says, exasperated. “You and I both know Tony loves his games, and if Steve were an experienced Submissive, I’d just roll my eyes and let them go at it. He’s not, though, and the fact that he’s sitting here instead of tied up somewhere with Tony just goes to prove that he doesn’t know what to do.”

“I’m not arguing with you! Hell, I’m in total agreement. Tony Stark is an asshole; end of story. But he’s not cruel.” Happy wavers. “Other than the sadistic thing, sure, but when it comes to emotions—”

“I think I should leave,” Steve says, and he doesn’t think he’s being loud, but they both stop and look at him. “You’re right, Pepper. I’m not with Tony right now, I’m here with you, and I would appreciate your help if you’re willing to give it to me. But not at the cost of listening you two badmouth Tony. I was the one to approach Tony, not the other way around. He’s been incredibly kind to me, and I can’t pay that back by sitting here and not saying anything. Thank you for the invitation. I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

He nods politely at the both of them and rises to leave.

“Steve, don’t. You’re right, that was a thoughtless—”

The door flings open.

“Alright, I got here as soon as I could,” says the man who enters. A colonel in the Air Force by the uniform, Steve notices. Neither Pepper nor Happy seem surprised to see him. “What’s happened now?”

It’s Pepper who says, “Rhodey, let me introduce you to Steve Rogers,” and Steve wishes once again that he’d accepted the bracelet when Rhodey’s gaze flick over his neck and wrist, both of them bare. It’s different in the military, where everyone wears a marker to prevent inappropriate touching between Dominants and Submissives, and he’s more conscious of his naked skin in front of Rhodey than he’d ever been with Pepper or Happy.

Pepper apprises Rhodey of the situation in a very neutral tone of voice, carefully sticking to the facts, and Steve appreciates her effort, although he’d tell her it’s unnecessary if they were alone. He doesn’t expect her to not voice her opinion, just would hope that she not abuse Tony where he can hear it. He knows Tony isn’t perfect and that her insults are tempered by love and years of companionship, but it makes him uncomfortable to hear them, as if he’s being disloyal.

“Tony’s taken a Submissive? You’re his Submissive?” Rhodey asks, and his eyes scan over Steve in obvious judgement. “Why didn’t he tell me?” It’s said with such honest confusion that Steve realizes he and Tony must be very close, and he feels a completely unjustified ripple of jealousy. He realizes it’s stupid. Of course Tony is going to have other good friends that he hasn’t introduced Steve to. Pepper and Happy live in the city, after all, and the trip to Tony’s penthouse had been quick.

Nonetheless, here is another person that is already buried deep within Tony’s affections, and he doesn’t know about Steve. 

Why not?

“Wait, and Tony’s making him do all the chasing after the fact?” Rhodey shakes his head. “Crap, how is he such a dick?”

Happy taps him on the arm. “We try not to call Tony names in front of Steve. He doesn’t like it.” There’s a layer of amusement in his voice that has Steve feeling like a wayward child being indulged by the adults around him, and he has to fight to keep from shifting. 

“Alright, then I won’t do it,” Rhodey says, and the look he gives Steve seems to express some combination of wry sympathy and what might be approval.

“As for Tony not telling you,” Pepper says,“there are some extenuating circumstances that make things a little more complicated than normal.”

She leans in to whisper into his ear, and Steve fixes his attention on the rack of pants near his chair, trying to give them as much privacy as he can. They might be discussing him—and his secret apparently isn’t much of a secret in Tony’s circle—but everyone seems to be ignoring it for the most part, and he can admit he prefers it that way, at least for now.

“I see,” is all he hears from Rhodey by the time she’s finished, and when Steve looks over. Rhodey’s watching him with a different light in his eyes than before, and if anything, it’s more considering than it’d been before.

“Alright, I think I’m all caught up. Now, when I got your email, Happy, all it really contained was this address, which I assumed we were using for reasons of subterfuge, although I’m starting to suspect there might be an even more dastardly purpose behind it, and the message, ‘Tony needs our help.’ Why exactly am I here?”

No one says anything.

“No,” Rhodey says, shaking his head. “No. Tell me you didn’t ask me to cancel a meeting with two senators and three generals and fly all night long in order to discuss Tony’s love life. Tell me I’m not here to decide what shade of blue best brings out Steve’s eyes.”

“We couldn’t have an even number of people!” Happy bursts out. “Who would be the tie-breaker?”

“It’s not an even number! There are three of you!”

“Yeah, but Steve doesn’t have a reliable opinion. He used to be color blind!” Happy protests, which is true, but Steve still feels a little affronted. He’s been dressing himself for years after all.

“This is a ridiculous conversation, and you’re not dragging me into it,” Rhodey says, but even Steve can see it’s a losing battle.

“Before you got here, Happy told me he thought we should put Steve in pink. Because you know how much Tony likes pink,” Pepper says, and Steve makes a mental note that pink isn’t Tony’s favorite color.

“I’m not saying we make everything pink! But a fitted button down,” Happy says, gesturing at his own chest, “with a tie that has some matching pink in it would be nice. I mean, look at his coloring!”

“Haven’t you people ever heard of national security? I can’t just abandon everything at the drop of a hat!”

“This orange isn’t too bad,” Happy says thoughtfully, rubbing a shirt sleeve between his fingers. “Feels good too. What?” he says at the look Rhodey gives him. It’s a particularly bright shade. “We want Tony to notice him. The colors should pop.”

“I have responsibilities,” Rhodey says, and to Steve’s ear, it already sounds resigned. “I’m in charge of—”

“No, really. I was just joking at first, but it’s growing on me, and I think Steve could pull it off—”

“It’s like I’m talking to myself. Or Tony. Why do I even bother?” Rhodey mutters, and Happy grins triumphantly.

\-----

“Let’s go through what you’ve tried so far,” Rhodey says a little later, and all their attention is on him.

Steve’s mouth opens and then closes, and really, this is mortifying. It’s for Tony, though. He can do this for Tony.

“I’ve gone shirtless several times or walked around in only a towel,” he says levelly, although he’s squirming inside. 

“I’ve worn the tightest, most revealing clothes I own.” They’re just sitting there. Watching him. 

“I’ve tried to show off my, um, physical assets by standing,” he takes a deep breath, “or positioning myself in certain ways.” His cheeks feel like they’re on fire. 

“When we’ve sparred, I’ve held onto him longer than necessary, and other than the first day, I’ve been careful to never physically overpower him.” Both Pepper and Happy are trying not to smile, although with varying degrees of success, and Steve’s stomach clenches. 

“Finally, I’ve been researching various fields, including modern culture and music, world events, notable figures, Stark Enterprises, and Tony himself so I have things to discuss with him,” he says and has to consciously try to slow down the rat-a-tat beat of his heart.

“And how has Tony responded?” asks Rhodey.

“He . . . he looks,” Steve says and ignores Happy’s, “Oh, I just bet he does.” 

“Just looks?”

“Yes,” he says and glances away, failure sitting like a stone in his gut. “I would’ve done more, but Tony has rules.”

“What kind of rules?”

He tells them.

“So no nudity and no overt touching,” Rhodey says, looking thoughtful. “Alright. Have you tried dirty talk? Or touching yourself in front of him?”

“From the color of his face,” Pepper says a moment later, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile, “I think that’s going to be a no. Do you always blush like that? Around Tony, I mean, when you’re . . . ?” She trails off, obviously thinking of a tactful way to phrase it.

“Doing your thing,” Happy provides helpfully.

She lets out a pained sigh. “Yes. When you’re doing your thing.”

“I used to,” Steve says, the blush flaring brighter, and he feels so stupid. Dirty talk. He hadn’t even thought of that, although he doesn’t know what he would’ve said if he had, and the touching himself . . . that’s . . . wow.

“But you don’t anymore?”

“Not . . . at first,” he hedges, and he’s starting to wonder if this conversation is ever going to end. There’s a tight ball of embarrassment and something else that he shies away from naming in his stomach, and he doesn’t like it. He assures himself he doesn’t like it.

“But eventually?” she asks, unrelenting, and he reluctantly admits the truth.

“If he looks long enough,” he says quietly, looking at the ground.

“I can’t,” she says, and Steve looks back up, startled as she turns away. “I just can’t. He’s like a basket full of puppies. I can’t handle it. Happy?”

Happy comes forward before Steve can start to worry, rueful expression on his face as he gets close. “Do you remember the whole conversation we had about your age?”

“Yes,” he says, as if there were any way he could forget.

“We both know Tony wants you. He’s said as much, and even if he hadn’t, it’d be obvious.” 

Steve wants to ask why, but Happy is already forging ahead. 

“You’re supposed to ‘convince’ him to throw what teeny tiny hesitation he has over the age difference out the window, but the problem, though, is that you’re actually reinforcing the youth and innocence thing every time you try to seduce him. The averted eyes, the blushes, these would be great if that were the angle you were taking, but you’re not. What you want is to do something that’ll drive Tony to be mindless with lust, to just _rip_ your clothes off,” Happy says, making tearing motions at his shirt, “and throw you down.”

Steve glances over, but Pepper seems intent on her nails and Rhodey is examining a floral painting on the wall. 

“Maybe spank you a little for being absolutely shameless. Hold you down and tell you what a—”

Pepper coughs.

“Or not. You know, whatever,” Happy says, and Steve isn’t the only one who’s red now. “The point is you can’t be timid. You have to overwhelm Tony and decimate his resistance. I know!” he says brightly, holding his finger up. “Think of it like a war! A military siege where you have to overcome his defenses—”

“I tried that. It didn’t work,” Steve says stiffly.

There’s no choice but to reveal how he’d almost ruined things between him and Tony the very first day of their contract, and when he finishes, he waits for their disapproval.

“So what happened after that?” Pepper gently asks instead.

“I apologized.” He takes a deep breath. “Right then and there. I got on my knees next to Tony and told him I didn’t mean it and that I would never lie to him.”

“Oh, you’re good,” Rhodey says and at Steve’s startled look, explains. “Sure, you made a mistake but the apology. Who’s going to be able to resist a pretty apology like that?”

“But I—”

“He doesn’t expect you to be perfect, Steve. Yes, you made a mistake, but that’s all it was.”

“To give you some insight into Tony’s character,” Pepper murmurs, “he’s always believed it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

“That’s right,” Rhodey says. “And it’s natural for people to test their boundaries and see where the leeway is. Just because you had a setback doesn’t mean you need to stop. The real question is whether you had more success when you were being aggressive or if it’s better now that you’re being shy.”

“He did seem more receptive the first day,” Steve says cautiously, remembering how Tony had acted the first time he’d taken off his shirt right when they’d entered the penthouse. He hasn’t responded the same since, but maybe repeat exposure has lessened the impact. Surely, however, Tony hasn’t managed to completely extinguish the fire Steve had seen in his eyes. 

“Well there you go then,” Happy says, smiling. “Tony likes it when people are straightforward. Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t like the games, because Tony totally likes the games.”

The way he says that makes Steve think about how Tony had said “let the games begin!”

“But confidence is sexy,” Happy continues.

“Attitude is definitely key,” Rhodey agrees.

“And I know I implied earlier that the blushing wasn’t helping,” Pepper says, “but it does have it’s own appeal. You don’t need to stop. Just don’t come off as being young. Innocent, yes; young, no. Which means keep eye contact. Or if you have to look away, look right back again. Smile.”

“You can also try licking or biting your lips. Who says an oral fixation is a bad thing?” 

“Make sure Tony knows that you want him. It’s not enough to say it once. Say it every day. Show it every day. A guy with an ego the size of Tony’s won’t be able to resist that for long.”

\-----

“So when you say tight and revealing, just how tight and revealing are we talking about here? Like ‘you’d bring shame on your family if you’re ever seen in public’ tight or ‘your friends only wish they had an ass like that’ tight?’” Happy asks, and Steve thinks he’s must be joking, but he looks completely serious.

“Um . . . closer to the latter?” he says, looking around, but Pepper and Rhodey are no help. “They were just the tightest ones I owned.”

“Well, on a scale of one to ten, where one is sweats and ten is, hell, paint, where would they fall?”

“A six?” he hazards. At Happy’s frown, he tries to explain. “They didn’t really have much in my size. I had to have all my pants adjusted to fit in the waist, but they couldn’t take them in too much without looking strange, so the thigh area is pretty tight, but the rest of it is still loose.”

Happy frowns even more.

“What about your shirts?”

“What about them?”

“Were they tailored?”

“No.”

“So the shoulders are tight, but the rest of it’s baggy?”

“Yes,” he says, and he’s beginning to understand why Happy looks so displeased. Clothes have never been important to him before. Even now, looking in one of the many mirrors around the room, he’d say his appearance was fine. When he compares the way his clothes fit him, and the way Pepper’s fit hers, and Rhodey’s, and Happy’s, there is a distinct difference. He looks fine. It’s not the same as looking good.

“And Tony’s never offered to—”

“He offered to buy me clothes. I asked him not to.”

Pepper winces slightly. “You turned down the clothes?”

“It wouldn’t have been appropriate. We’re not even—I don’t want to be a burden—”

“This is going to be a little harder than I thought,” Rhodey says and sighs. “Normally, I would say refusing to let a Dominant randomly throw money at you is a good thing. Except we’re talking about Tony, and all the normal rules kind of fly out the window. Tony has a lot of money.”

“I don’t need him to buy me things,” Steve tells him. It doesn’t matter how much money Tony has; he can pay for himself.

“I don’t need Tony to buy me things either. That being said, I let Tony buy me things all the time. Do you think of less of me knowing that?”

“Of course not!” he says, although he is somewhat surprised. Dominants tended to be extremely prideful when it came to matters that seemed to impugn their dominance, and money was always a difficult issue, even between close friends. “You’ve known Tony a long time.”

“I have, and Tony knows there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him, just like I know there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for me. That’s not why I let him buy me things, however.” Rhodey leans forward.

“Now, as I was saying, Tony has a lot of money. He has _always_ had a lot of money. He has so much that it doesn’t mean anything to him, or at least, it doesn’t mean the same thing to him that it means to you and me. Tony buys things for everyone, not just the people he cares for. He’ll throw money at anyone who grabs his attention, and that’s just the way he is. He learned early on that everyone wants something, and the more money he gives, the more people like him. It’s almost like he’s throwing out these chains of gratitude and affection that bind people to him, and it’s predictable and reliable, and he feels comfortable that way. So when you reject his offer to buy you something, that’s a problem, because while you think you’re rejecting the idea that you can’t take of yourself, he thinks you’re rejecting—”

“Him.”

“That’s right. And I’m not saying you have to let him buy everything, but if he’s making a gesture of some kind, then you should just recognize that yes, he’s doing it for you, but he’s also doing it for himself. Going forward, you might consider—”

“What if—?” Steve swallows, and the dread that he’s been carrying around all morning rises up until he thinks he might be sick. “What if I rejected more than just some clothes? What if I turned down an identifying bracelet?”

Rhodey stares at him for a second and then slumps back in his chair. “Ah hell.”


	9. Chapter 9

It’s late when Steve finally gets home. He’d called to tell Tony he wasn’t going to be around for dinner, and Tony had seemed alright, telling him to “have fun with the girls” and that he’d see him when he got in—although the last part had nearly been drowned out by Happy’s spluttering.

Tony had sounded fine, but Steve’s starting to think that’s just the way he is, always keeping everything behind a mask of good cheer. It may be true, however. Tony really might not care that Steve hadn’t accepted his present, although none of the people closest to him had thought so. Steve cares, though. The thought that he unwittingly hurt Tony is all he’s been able to think about.

The living room is empty, and he calls Tony’s name, but there’s no answer. He could ask JARVIS where Tony is, but finding Tony so he can apologize seems like something he should do himself, so he searches through every room, albeit without success. He guesses where Tony must be, but he checks the roof, gym, and pool just in case. By the time he reaches the lab, he’s a nervous wreck, wiping his palms on his jeans, shifting the box he’s holding from hand to hand.

Getting Tony a present had been Pepper’s idea, but the present itself had been Steve’s. Although the three of them had given him a bevy of possibilities, none of them had seemed right, and while he still isn’t sure that this is right either, he hopes it’ll show how sincere he is.

He knows the code to gain entry, but he knocks instead, knocks again a couple of minutes later and once again when even more time passes. He’s debating whether he should try one more time of if he should wait until the morning—maybe Tony is ignoring him on purpose. Maybe he doesn’t want to see him at all—when the door finally slides open, and he’s assaulted by some of the loudest, most . . . snarly music he’s ever heard.

“Steve? What are you—JARVIS, cut the music. I can’t hear a damn thing I’m saying—what are you doing out here? You should’ve just—”

Even with all the anxiousness roiling around in his stomach, Steve can admit he enjoys the way Tony’s mouth kind of hangs open as his eyes go up and down his body. Not to say he’s not blushing—it’s a good thing Pepper hadn’t prohibited that, because he’s not sure he could’ve obeyed—but he stops the instinctive urge to curl in and straightens his shoulders instead. He adjusts his feet so his legs are spread wider than he’d normally stand, and he doesn’t look away from Tony once.

“Do you like it? You bought it for me,” he informs Tony casually, like he hadn’t had a five minute argument with Rhodey about who was going to pay. It would’ve been one thing if Tony had actually been there to purchase the many, _many_ clothes that they’d chosen for him, but he hadn’t, and Steve hadn’t thought it’d be fair to spring a huge bill on him without any prior warning. It was only Rhodey’s threat to buy the whole lot of it himself—”Because you know Tony’s going to be thrilled to hear another Dominant bought you all your clothes”—that had finally made Steve give in. That, and the way the sales person had been all but fawning over Rhodey. He hadn’t thought she’d take his credit card over Rhodey’s, not with the way Rhodey had been smiling at her.

“Did I?” Tony asks, and Steve doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Tony’s gaze turns sharper.

Steve’s wearing a pair of what Happy refers to as his “OMG, put that away” jeans that he assures him Tony will love, and a T-shirt that has to be at least two sizes too small, because “If you can’t see your nipples, what’s the point of even buying it?”

_“I’m basically naked,” Steve protests, ignoring the urge to adjust himself in order to get more comfortable. He isn’t sure he can sit in these things without hurting himself._

_“And how exactly is that a bad thing?”_

“I like it very much. What else did I buy you?” Tony asks, his eyes centered on Steve’s chest, and he understands Happy’s comment much more now.

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” Steve tells him, and his voice comes out husky enough to be embarrassing.

“I’m not really one for waiting,” Tony says absently, and he twirls his finger. “Turn around. Let’s see the rest of it.”

Steve swallows but does what he’s told, slowly rotating around. It’s not really any different than anything he’s done for Tony before, but it is, because Tony is openly admiring this time, because Tony’s asking, because Tony wants it—and that thought sends a shiver down his spine. It feels inevitable that he starts to get hard, and by the time he’s gone all the way around, there’s no hiding it.

Not that he’s trying to.

Tony looks. Tony looks for a long time, even reaching up and running his thumb thoughtfully across the bottom of his lower lip, making Steve outright shudder, but he doesn’t say anything. 

It’s been weeks since Steve’s masturbated. Before the serum, that wouldn’t have been a problem, but now he’s used to coming at least once a day, his body demanding things that he has only the one outlet for. It hurts to be this hard, his cock trapped by his clothes, a dull ache growing in his balls, and he thinks back to Rhodey’s question of whether he’s ever tried touching himself in front of Tony.

“What’s in the box?”

“What?” Steve asks, momentarily confused, in what is definitely not his best moment ever, and oh crap, the box. “This is for you,” he says, flustered, thrusting it toward Tony, and how could he have forgotten about the present?

He’d actually planned on going to his knees again, had even planned a whole speech in his head, but he can’t remember it now. What’s wrong with him? He can’t believe he has an erection while apologizing to Tony.

“For me?” Tony looks down at the brightly wrapped present in his hands but doesn’t reach out.

“It was . . . it was the one thing I bought today,” Steve admits. “You don’t have to wear it. You don’t even have to keep it once—” He breaks off before he can say “once I’m gone.” He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t even want to think of it.

This was supposed to be a temporary contract. So why does the thought of it ending make him so upset?

“I just wanted to give it you,” he says when the silence drags on, and Tony is watching him with eyes that see too much. 

Tony finally takes the box from him, carefully peeling away the paper and ribbon. There isn’t a trash can in the hall, so Steve takes them from him, crumbling them up into fist, because there’s barely any room in his pockets for air let alone wrapping paper, and he desperately tries not to dwell on the fact that Tony doesn’t look pleased. He doesn’t look displeased either, and Steve doesn’t know what he’d expected, but this blankness isn’t it. This was a bad idea. He dearly wants to grab the box from Tony before he finishes opening it, and his hands actually twitch before he stills them. What had he been thinking? As if Tony would want something like this from him when he hasn’t wanted anything from him up until now.

Tony hesitates for a second right before he opens the jewelry box, and Steve has to look away at the first flash of gold.

“This morning, when you offered me that bracelet, I know I said no, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want a bracelet from you. I just . . . I wanted it to mean something, and I didn’t think it did. To you. At least, not the same thing it meant to me,” he says, and shit, he’s babbling, but he can’t stop. 

He sees Tony lift the bracelet out of the box out of the corner of his eye and he looks at Tony’s face, wondering what he must think of him.

Tony’s expression, however, still doesn’t give anything away.

“The thing is, though, when I grew up, nearly everyone wore an identifying bracelet, but Submissives in contracts also wore claiming bracelets. So they’d have two, the blue first, and the black closer to the wrist. Dominants would wear them in the reverse order if they bothered to wear the claiming bracelet at all—”

“Steve—”

“I didn’t realize that had changed too,” he says in a rush before Tony can finish whatever he’s trying to say. There’s a softening around Tony’s eyes, and hopefully that means Tony’s forgiven him, that he understands why Steve did what he did, but he still has to explain. He has to get this out. “I didn’t know most people use just the one bracelet now.”

Blue for Submissive; black for Dominant; blue and black for Switch. That much has stayed the same. But the amount of color showing has also become important. If the whole bracelet is colored, that means the person is unattached. If there’s a band of some other color on one side, it means he or she is in an open contract, with the other color signalling they either had a pre-determined end date, or they were open to additional partners for the night, or they were looking for a third to add to the relationship. If there’s a band on both sides, it means a closed contract—they’re committed, for lack of a better word. It isn’t unusual for people with closed contracts to move from bracelets to collars, Pepper had informed him.

The bracelet Tony had offered him had been double-banded. There were several possible reasons why he’d chosen that, an obligation to SHIELD maybe, or to discourage other Dominants. Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy thought it was that and more.

 _“I don’t think you realize this, Steve, but Tony’s had a crush on Captain America for_ years _,” Happy tells him in what he obviously thinks is encouragement, although it actually makes Steve’s stomach knot. “Since forever.”_

_Rhodey laughs. “He has a room full of Captain America memorabilia with posters, dolls, comics, the works basically.”_

_“So while outer-Tony is trying to deal with the age difference, inner-Tony is pretty much squealing with glee.”_

_“Oh yeah, he’s writing your name in hearts all over his notebooks.”_

__I’m not just Captain America, _he wants to tell them, but he doesn’t. They’re trying to be kind. And at this point, he wants Tony so much that if Tony chooses him just because of what the serum has turned him into, he’d accept it and be grateful for it besides._

_Even if a part of him wishes Tony could fall in love with Steve Rogers as well._

_“Of course, if he_ just _wanted you as Captain America, he would’ve taken you up on your offer the very first day,” Pepper says, and he looks over, wondering if his expression is as naked with hope as it feels it is and not caring._

_“That’s true. Tony’s never been good at abstaining unless it’s important. Which is why I think it’s telling that he gave you that particular bracelet. He’s not sure what to do with you, but he doesn’t want to give you up.”_

It makes Steve that much more guilty for turning down the bracelet in the first place, but he hadn’t realized the gift had also been a statement of intent, and all he can do is try to make it up to Tony now.

He hopes the bracelet he chose for Tony will be a step in that direction. Pepper had taken him to a jewelry designer, Sofia, whom she particularly liked, and he’d meticulously gone through all the bracelets in her inventory to find one that suited Tony. He would’ve liked to been able to work with Sofia himself in order to make something completely original, but it wouldn’t have been ready in time, and he couldn’t stand the idea of waiting weeks before giving it to him.

He’d been lucky. Although technically not an identifying bracelet, he’d found a piece that was gold all the way around except for a large black onyx surrounded by a circle of silver. There’d been lines etched between the two, almost but not quite touching, and Sofia had said she’d wanted to evoke the sun’s rays—or flower petals, Happy had suggested, snickering—but to Steve, it’d reminded him of the arc reactor. 

He’d known immediately that it’d been the one, and while he still winces when he thinks of how much he’d paid for it, it’ll be worth every penny if Tony accepts it.

“So why give me this?” Tony asks as he turns the bracelet around in his hand, and the words aren’t said cruelly, but they still manage to cut Steve. Doesn’t he know?

“I just wanted you to have it,” Steve says again, and it’s true, although it’s not the explanation Tony clearly wants. He’s not sure he’s ready, however, to discuss the message within the bracelet. 

There’s black for Dominant and gold to show his willingness to accept a closed contract with Tony, but it’s not a typical banded identifying bracelet. When he’d bought it, he’d told himself he’d chosen this piece in order to avoid pressuring Tony to wear it as a symbol of their relationship if he didn’t want to. 

But now he thinks he might have been lying to himself. The thought of Tony actually encircling his wrist with something Steve bought for him fills him with a craving that seems indecent in its fervor, and he acknowledges to himself that he might have chosen this bracelet _because_ of how much gold there was, because even if it didn’t follow normal conventions, he’d wanted to declare that Tony was taken.

“But why did you want me to have it?” Tony asks, and he’s rubbing his thumb against a section of the bracelet—right over the inscription that Steve had requested be added. 

_I serve._

He can’t seem to look away. Has Tony seen it? Does he understand?

“Why, Steve?”

“Because I—” He stops and clears his throat. 

“Why?”

“Because I want you to be mine,” he says hoarsely, and it takes everything he has to not run after admitting that, but he forces himself to wait instead. He waits for an eternity. And when Tony still doesn’t reply, he nods jerkily and leaves before he can humiliate himself any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense, I said there was less angst in this fic than in the original Nostalgia, not that there wasn't any at all. >_>
> 
> We're coming close to the last of what I've written so far. I have one more update, I think, and then after that, I have to start writing again, so updates won't be consistent anymore. Part of the problem is that I'm writing Nostalgia again, so I don't know if I'll alternate chapters or finish one fic and then the other, although I will admit that I'm more likely to write the fic that gets the bigger response *cough, cough* but we'll see. Anyway, I just wanted to give you guys a heads up.


	10. Chapter 10

He wakes up late the next morning, groggy and heart-sore. He’d spent most of the night trying to decide if he should pack his bag immediately and go back to SHIELD, or if he should throw himself at Tony’s feet and beg. It feels like torture of the worst kind, and if Tony had been doing it on purpose, Steve would’ve said his safeword hours ago.

It’s no one’s fault but his, however, and he’s suffering the consequences. 

It’s not over; he’s not giving up. It’s been less than three weeks since he met Tony, and he needs to give him time. Steve knows that when he falls, he tends to fall hard, but that doesn’t mean it’s the same for Tony.

But it hurts.

And he wishes with everything in him that he’d accepted Tony’s bracelet yesterday, because then he wouldn’t have known that Tony wasn’t ready to hear about his feelings and have a token of what regard he does have for him. Instead, he’s trying to compose himself enough to act like nothing ever happened, and he doesn’t even have the reassurance of Tony’s gift on his wrist. He doesn’t have anything.

It takes longer than it should before he’s ready to get up, and when he does, he spends several embarrassing minutes dithering over his clothes. He’d only brought home the one outfit. The rest will be delivered as they’re ready, and he knows some more are supposed to arrive today. Does he want to go out in the same clothes he was wearing last night?

No, he really doesn’t. He’s not sure he wants to wear those clothes ever again as a matter of fact, although he knows he will. Some day. It’s too wasteful not to. As for today, however, he finally settles on a workout shirt and pants and grimly looks forward to going to the gym and breaking a few body bags.

Except . . . is that laughter?

He makes his way to the living room, and there are Tony and Rhodey, both of them looking a little bruised and battered, with drinks in their hands—at 8:47am. It’s nowhere near noon—and sitting close enough on the couch that Steve has to contain the urge to frown.

“Steve!” Tony exclaims, and it’s not fair that his smile dims when he sees him when all Steve wants is to make him happy. “You didn’t tell me Rhodey was with you guys yesterday!”

“He wanted it to be a surprise,” Steve says and can’t help but feel like he’s intruding. When had Rhodey gotten there?

“Good to see you again, Steve,” Rhodey tells him, loose and relaxed, a scrape across his cheekbone, and Steve realizes he’s tipsy. This is far from their first drink.

“You too, Rhodey,” he says, and it’s still the truth, even if he’s not as pleased about it as he would’ve been a minute ago before he’d seen them out here together. Do they always sit that close?

“No snazzy outfit today?” Tony asks, leaning forward to put his drink down on the table, and that’s when Steve see his arm is around Rhodey’s shoulders. “I was looking forward to seeing what you were going to wear,” he says, looking at Steve with solemn eyes that don’t match his light-hearted tone, and Steve would wonder about that, but the rush of relief he feels when Tony brings his arms forward so they’re resting on his knees is too great to ignore.

“They . . .” He tries to focus. “They only had time to alter the one.”

Rhodey snorts. “And that’s just because it was like eighty percent spandex, I swear.”

“You only went to one store?” Tony frowns.

“We went to a hundred stores. A _million_. All of which were more than happy to accept your money, believe me. But Steve doesn’t exactly wear clothes off the rack, and you can’t rush perfection, right, Steve?”

“I . . . yes,” he says, and he feels like he’s floundering a little. Rhodey is just as nice as he was yesterday, but Tony’s bruised, and they’re both halfway to drunk, and he remembers all too clearly Happy’s revelation that Tony’s dated other Dominants. “They’re going to deliver some more today.”

“Good,” Tony says, and surely it’s significant that he’s still looking at Steve instead of Rhodey. “I’ll have to take you somewhere special then. Show you off.”

All of Steve’s attention immediately hones in on Tony. “Alright,” he manages to get out, voice hitching at Tony’s choice of words and the image that accompanies them. They really had visited a lot of stores, and not all the clothes Steve had gotten are for public viewing. The thought of it, however, of Tony parading Steve in something that’s meant just for him, makes his heart twist like mad.

Rhodey makes a strangled noise. “Swallowed wrong,” he says and gets up, coughing, shoulders shaking as he heads for the kitchen.

Tony grins, but his eyes stay on Steve, and Steve . . .

There’s nothing that could get him to look away.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

Except for that. He ducks his head. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, I was—”

“It’s my fault—”

“Steve. You don’t have to accept my apology, but you do have to listen. Tell me you understand.”

“I—yes,” he gets out, eyes wide, and he’s staring, he knows he is, but Tony’s never used that tone of voice with him. “Yes, Sir.” And he’d thought his heart had been racing before.

“You caught me by surprise, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you deserved better from me than my silence. I’m sorry. I’d like to finish our conversation later, if you don’t mind.”

Steve does mind actually, and the thought of picking up from where they’d left off makes him feel like his stomach has dropped into his shoes and is trying to burrow its way through the ground, but there’s only one answer. “Yes.”

“Good. After dinner then.”

He swallows. “Alright.”

\-----

Tony and Rhodey spend the next couple of hours playing video games, insulting each other the entire time. Steve’s invited to play, and he does for a while, but when a delivery of clothes arrives, he uses it as an excuse to stop.

It’s not that he’s unwelcome, but there’s a rhythm there between the two of them that he feels like he’s interrupting, and he’s nervous—about dinner and what’ll happen afterward—and it just makes it worse to see the two of them laugh and be so openly affectionate with each other.

He puts everything away and tells Tony he’s going to the gym where he tries to beat his jealousy into submission. Rhodey’s been nothing but encouraging. Tony had apologized and wants to show him off. Neither wears an identifying bracelet with any bands. A couple in love doesn’t act that way.

But how had they gotten so roughed up?

The walls of the penthouse are sound-proofed. How would he know if Tony left in the middle of the night? How would he know what he was doing? Or who he was doing it with?

What are they doing right now?

He finally gives in to the urge to call Happy, because he needs someone to tell him he’s overreacting and the wondering is driving him crazy.

“So how’d it go?” Happy asks as soon as he picks up. “Did he like the clothes? Of course he liked the clothes. Is he—”

“Happy,” he interrupts, conscious of how wrong it is to ask but doing it all the same. “Did . . . did Tony and Rhodey ever . . . did they—?”

“Who, _Rhodey_?” Happy asks, the disbelief heavy enough in his voice that Steve immediately relaxes a little bit. “No! Well, not that I know of,” he says, and Steve tenses up again. “I mean, they would’ve had to have been really, really drunk. So drunk. Although . . . I suppose Tony does have a bit of charm, and Rhodey. Hell, who wouldn’t want to get a leg over all of that,” he says, voice getting a little dreamy. 

“Happy,” he says, and it comes out more plaintive than he’d like.

Happy clears his throat. “Look, Tony and Rhodey go way back. That doesn’t mean there are any _feelings_ involved. At least, not the kind that you find in your pants.”

“But Tony had his arm around Rhodey’s shoulders. And there were . . .” he takes a breath, “bruises.”

There’s a brief silence and then, “Rhodey’s there?”

“Yes,” Steve says, and he has to make himself not sound impatient.

“Hmm. Okay, so Tony and Rhodey have known each other for years, and they’re good friends, like, the best of friends. Maybe, and I mean _maybe_ , in a different world, they’d be together. Maybe. But in this one? Not going to happen.”

“Why not?” he asks, aching to be reassured.

“Because they love each other too much to mess it up with sex. They’ve got the bromance of the century. But that’s all it is.”

“I don’t know . . . that I feel better really.”

Happy snickers. “Sorry. Look, if they were ever going to hook up, it would’ve happened by now. Tony’s known Pepper even longer than Rhodey, and it took him forever to ask her out, and he’s not even giving Rhodey the googly eyes that he did during the lead-up with Pepper. Too much time has gone by. The statute of limitations has passed.”

“I’m not sure I understand. If Tony’s known Pepper longer, doesn’t that mean he could still decide he wants to date Rhodey?”

“What?”

“Well, just, if it took him that long to ask her out, then if it takes him the same amount of time to ask Rhodey out, then doesn’t he still have time to—”

“What is all this, I don’t know, logic or what the hell ever?” Happy says, sounding annoyed. “Work with me here. Tony doesn’t regret dating Pepper. He loved Pepper, still loves Pepper, will always love Pepper, but it didn’t work. It hasn’t affected their relationship in that they’re just as close as ever, but it did change it, and I’m sure Tony regrets _that_ a little. And theirs was a typical Dominant/Submissive relationship. It’d be a lot harder in a Dominant/Dominant relationship. Tony’s not going to ever try with Rhodey because he’d be too worried about what would change between the two of them. He won’t.”

“But what about Rhodey? What if he decides to—”

“Okay, let’s try this a different way. Who did Tony buy a bracelet for? Double-banded, no less.”

Steve sees where he’s going with this and doesn’t say anything.

“You. Who did he sign a contract with?”

“He was pressured—”

“If you think Tony Stark is going to be pressured into signing a contract with anyone, then you don’t know him very well.” 

Happy’s right. Steve doesn’t know Tony half as well as he’d liked, but he does know Tony won’t be forced into something like this. Tony had realized what he was getting himself into, and he’d gone ahead with it anyway.

“You. Who has he spent almost every waking hour with for the past few weeks—”

“Alright, Happy. Alright. Thank you,” he adds quietly, because although the worry hasn’t disappeared completely, it feels much more manageable.

“It’s what I’m here for.” There’s a tiny pause. “Did you, um, get a chance to give Tony the bracelet last night?”

“I did, but—he wants to talk some more after dinner,” Steve hedges. He’s not quite ready to tell Happy everything that happened, not if there’s another end in sight.

“Oh. Well, that’s good, right? Tony, for all that he loves the sound of his voice, hates talking about stuff like this, so he must think it’s important.”

“You think so?” he asks, his hopes rising.

“Definitely.”

\-----

Rhodey’s gone when he gets back upstairs.

“Did Rhodey leave?” he asks Tony who’s fiddling with a projection of what looks to be some kind of missile schematics. He’d been planning on sneaking past the two of them in order to shower, but Tony’s right there, and Steve’s suddenly very conscious of how sweaty and smelly he must be.

“Yeah, he’s supposed to be overseas right now, fighting a war, yadda yadda yadda, and he had to go.” Tony turns off the projection and looks at him. “They’re still hoping I go back to designing weapons for them, so they give him a lot of leeway if we’re in the same city together, especially since I still help out on the War Machine, but duty calls. How was your workout?”

“Uh, good,” he says and just wants to make his escape. Now that his clothes have arrived, he’d been hoping to change and impress Tony, but that plan’s ruined, because no one looks attractive with sweat tracks down his shirt.

His eyes skitter around the room and catch on the trash on the table, so he goes to clear it, relieved to have something to distract him from the way Tony’s looking at him.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Steve says. He’d wondered when he’d first moved in if he was supposed to take over the cleaning and cooking duties, but Tony keeps a tidy house all on his own, and he has a maid service for the nitty-gritty work. Steve’s not actually a big fan of scrubbing counters and bathtubs, so he’d let that go, but he’d tried to make dinner once for Tony, because that’s what was expected of Submissives when he’d been growing up. Cooking is not his forte, however, and while it’d been edible, even Steve can admit it hadn’t been great. Tony had eaten it, however, every last bite, but Steve had found half-full containers of takeout in the trash the next morning. Even after all this time, the waste of perfectly good food still makes him wince, so he’d stopped cooking, and honestly, has been happier for it. Nevertheless, he likes to contribute however he can, so he says truthfully, “I want to,” and is pleased to be able to take care of Tony in this small way.

“But _why_ do you want to?” Tony asks, and Steve looks up, because his tone of voice tells Steve they’re not talking about picking up a few empty cans and plates off the coffee table anymore.

He straightens, leaving the trash in a neat pile on the table, and while he would’ve preferred to be dressed differently for this, there’s a large part of him that’s glad they’re going to finish their talk now instead of later. The wait was killing him.

“Because you’re a good man,” he says, encompassing all the things Tony has done for him, his kindness and generosity, and it seems almost like a lukewarm compliment, but it’s one of the highest praises he can give. “Because when I’m with you, I still miss them, Peggy and Bucky, everyone, but it doesn’t hurt as much, because all I’m thinking about is you.”

Tony looks away. “You’re so young,” Tony says heavily, and Steve’s stomach clenches. “You can’t take your first time back, Steve. Don’t you want to wait? See what else is out there— _who_ else is—”

“I knew Bucky and I were going to be best friends the first time he knocked me over during recess and then came back to help me up. I knew I’d love Peggy the first time I saw her put a Submissive in place because he was being disrespectful. I don’t have to wait when I already know!” he says, because he does. He’s always known his own mind and how he feels, and he loves—

His lips part in surprise. 

Oh fuck.

“Look, Steve, you may think—”

He’s in love with Tony.

No wonder he’d been so jealous of Rhodey! Why he’d been willing to reveal so much of himself in front of virtual strangers in the hopes of getting Tony to accept him. Why he’s willing to go to such lengths to have Tony. 

“—got your whole life ahead of you—”

Does Tony know?

No, he thinks, as he stares at Tony, who’s saying something although Steve can’t hear it over the buzzing in his ears. He doesn’t. Although how he’s missed it, Steve doesn’t know, because it’s so glaringly obvious to him now.

“—someone special. Someone who’ll—”

He can’t tell him.

He wants to, wants to say the words he never got the chance to say to Peggy, to anyone other than his family, but he can’t. 

_Mental seduction is allowed, but physical is not._

Tony wouldn’t believe him. He’d think it was all another part of the game, and Steve couldn’t bear it he were dismissive or rejected him because of it.

“—and Rhodey says that you’re sure but—”

He couldn’t bear it if Tony rejected him at all.

Maybe the smartest thing to do would be to take some time, go back to his room and sort everything out, so he can present a composed face to Tony. But he needs him. It’s an actual physical ache that Tony’s arms aren’t around him, that he can’t go to him and seek comfort from both the source and solution to his turmoil. Steve doesn’t want to wait anymore. He can’t.

“—which is why I think that—what are doing?” Tony asks sharply as Steve sinks to his knees.

“Tony,” Steve rasps out, wants to say more but can’t get anything else out, and he feels like he’s going to shake apart as his hand reaches out that first step and he starts to crawl. There are only a few feet between them, but it seems like more, the distance stretching out further and further with each step. It’s not sexy, he knows. He’s dirty from working out, and he feels like a great lumbering beast as he makes his way across, with none of the gracefulness that a more talented Submissive would bring to the act. But he doesn’t know how else to show Tony how serious he is, and he needs . . . 

“Please,” he says hoarsely when he reaches Tony and has to close his eyes as he rubs his head against Tony’s leg, sucks in a strangled breath. Unless they’re in the gym, he never touches Tony, because he doesn’t have his permission to. It feels shockingly forbidden to do this, so much so that he almost pulls back—but the relief is greater, the hunger for touch, for Tony, easing by the smallest degree, and he doesn’t do it.

“Please,” he whispers, hesitantly wrapping first one arm, then the other around Tony’s legs when he doesn’t say anything, and he clutches on to them as he huddles at his feet, face buried against his thigh. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Tony pushes him away, trembles at the thought of finding out.

“Fuck,” Tony says, and his hand is unsteady against Steve’s skin as he lifts his face towards him. 

“Please, Tony,” he gasps, and he feels fragile enough to break.

“Okay, Steve.” Tony brushes his thumb against Steve’s jaw. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I actually have no idea how this chapter is going to be received. 
> 
> This is the last chapter I have pre-written. As I warned before, I am stuck on the porn. Why, porn, why?? I am also working on the original Nostalgia and have to figure out which fic to update at any particular time. I really do think it'll be based on how many kudos/comments I get on a posting, so go ahead and cast your votes, guys. I get excited by what my readers are excited by.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is when I change the rating to Explicit.
> 
> Okay, guys, so this is a super-short chapter, but I think it's a logical stopping place. Seriously, it has nothing to do with being a little sick, or that writing porn is hard, or anything like that. Really.
> 
> Many thanks to MetaAllu who is the best. <3
> 
> Anyway, sorry it's been so long since I updated this. I got swept up in writing for Nostalgia. However! Here is another chance to out-kudos/comment Nostalgia so I focus on this fic instead! >_>
> 
> /blatant shamelessness

”Feeling better?” Tony asks softly when Steve’s grip finally starts to loosen and he feels like he won’t fall over if he tries to stand up. 

He nods, embarrassed but uncaring because Tony said yes. He’s Tony’s now. 

Tony helps him up but doesn’t let go when he’s on his feet, and Steve holds firm to his shirt, stretching the fabric until there’s a distinct possibility it’s going to tear, but he can’t make himself let go. Tony’s hands are so strong, and he’s looking at him with a wealth of tenderness in his eyes, and at any other time, Steve would bask in it, but now—

“Tony, I want—” His fingers flex against Tony’s shirt.

“What do you want, Steve?” Tony asks, as if it’s not obvious.

“You,” he says, and it’s the hardest and easiest thing he’s said in a long time. “I want you.”

“You have me,” Tony says, cupping his cheek.

“Yes, but—that’s not what I—” 

How is he supposed to explain all the various ways in which he needs Tony? He’s barely started to get his own head around how deep his feelings go and all the things he hopes for. It’s too much to put into words. He looks at Tony helplessly.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Tony asks, and Steve feels a rush of relief that Tony is taking the burden out of his hands. All he has to do is answer.

“Yes,” he whispers. He wants Tony to touch him everywhere, wants him to know him everywhere.

“Do you want me to take care of you?”

“Yes,” he says, although it’s not just that. Yes, he wants Tony to take care of him, but he wants to take care of Tony too.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Tony asks in the same accepting tone of voice, as if Steve can say yes or no, and the answer won’t be wrong either way. 

But Steve knows what he wants.

“Please,” he sighs shakily. The crack in Tony’s expression makes him say it again. “Please, Tony.”

Tony clears his throat and looks away for a second, but by the time he asks, “And do you want me to hurt you?” his voice is calm once again.

“Yes,” Steve says, but it comes out sounding a lot less confident than he’d intended, even though he does want Tony to hurt him, he does, just . . . maybe not right away? He doesn’t want to disappoint Tony, and the worry that he will, that he won’t be able to be what Tony needs, has him nervous to even try.

Tony hums consideringly.

“I have an idea. Would it be alright if I tied you up a little? Nothing you couldn’t get out of,” he says reassuringly, “but something to keep you where I want you.”

The thought makes him shiver, Tony arranging him for his pleasure, of being able to do only what Tony wants him to and nothing more, and his hesitation from before gets swept up in a wave of longing. “Please.” 

“Right now?” Tony brushes a stray lock of Steve’s hair away from his forehead, fingers lingering. “Because there’s no rush, and I was thinking you might be tired; all that exercise, and you had a long day yesterday. We could sit and watch a movie maybe, make out a little bit, wait until after dinner for something more strenuous. I could—”

“Now,” he says, because he doesn’t know what to do with everything that’s churning inside of him, but he knows Tony will. “I don't—please don't make me wait.”

“I won't.” Tony smiles softly. “What’s your safeword, Steve?”

“Shield,” he says, because it was all that he could think of early on, and it’s always protected him. 

“Shield,” Tony agrees. “Why don’t we head to my room?” he says and puts his hand over Steve’s, taking a small step toward their hallway.

He follows immediately, too fast, too eager, and they stumble, feet tripping over each other. Tony lets out a small chuckle, soft and affectionate, and Steve’s cheeks burn.

“Slow down, tiger. We’re going to have an accident at this rate, and the only bruises I want on you are the ones I put there.”

Tony’s teasing, but it makes Steve shiver all the same. “Yes,” he breathes, wanting that too, to wear whatever marks Tony will give him, and he doesn’t consciously decide to lean in and kiss Tony, but it’s happening before he can convince himself not to do it.

It’s . . . it’s sloppy. Uncoordinated. His nose bumps into Tony’s, and their teeth clack together when he tries to adjust, pushing in harder than he’d intended. He’d imagined his first kiss with Tony to be a lot smoother, but it’s still good, so, so good, satisfying in more ways than he can explain, and Tony lets him explore for a long time. 

When Tony finally pulls back, Steve blindly chases after him, wanting more of Tony’s mouth, but he’s stopped by a hand at the base of his neck, gripping and tugging at his hair.

Steve’s hard—of course he’s hard—but that is—

Tony tightens his fingers, pulling on his hair, and Steve whines helplessly, cock aching.

Tony grins in response, teeth showing, bright and sharp, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his free hand. Steve would probably be mortified by all the excess saliva his kisses have left on Tony if he were capable of thinking much at all. “My turn.”

Tony is a biter. He likes to nip at Steve’s lips, likes to suck at the bottom one and then run his teeth over it as he lets it back out. He doesn’t keep to Steve’s mouth either, tilting Steve’s head this way and that so he can reach his jaw, his ears, can take the flesh of Steve’s neck between his teeth and press down hard enough that Steve has to lock his knees to keep them from buckling.

“You okay?” Tony asks, lifting his head back up until Steve can feel his breath ghosting over his lips. He would’ve thought the lack of contact would make things easier, give him a chance to catch his breath and regain some equilibrium, but it has the opposite effect. It drives him crazy to be this close to Tony and not be kissing him.

“Please,” he says, straining forward, but Tony leans back just enough to stay out of reach, his hand remaining firm, and another wave of shivery pleasure cascades down Steve’s spine as his hair pulls taut, his muscles going rubbery in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” Tony says, grinning, and pulls him in for another kiss. This time, his free hand slides down slowly and purposefully until it’s molding itself to the curve of Steve’s ass. Steve barely has time to suck in a breath before Tony’s massaging him there, rolling Steve’s hips just enough that he’s grinding against Tony and coincidentally spreading his cheeks apart with each knead of his hand. Steve’s squeak of surprise is quiet enough that he desperately hopes Tony didn’t hear it—but the thought shatters when Tony’s fingers slide lower, grazing right over his opening each time Steve moves, and fuck, oh fuck. 

He finds himself rubbing harder against Tony, pushing back against Tony’s fingers and snapping his hips forward as Tony starts pressing more firmly, again and again, and he can’t even kiss him back, just pants as Tony does what he wants to his mouth. He hasn’t come in weeks, and he’s never been this excited before, and the thought of what Tony might do—of what Tony _will_ do—has him desperate for orgasm. The desire is so overwhelming that he’s not even sure it feels good anymore; all he knows is that he feels like he’s going to burst, like the pressure inside him is going to explode if it doesn’t find a way out, and he can’t hold on much longer.

“I’m going to—I need to—” He whines, hips working faster, and he flushes as Tony tugs his head back in order to look at him, but he can’t stop. “Please, may I—may I come?” he manages to get out, and asking makes it all that much more necessary.

“Oh, that’s nice. That’s very nice,” Tony says appreciatively, and Steve realizes that he’s nowhere near as affected as Steve is, that he’s not moving at all and that Steve’s basically humping his leg.

He wants to hide his face, but Tony’s hold makes that impossible, so he shuts his eyes tight instead, humiliation flooding through him as he tries to control himself. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Tony says mildly, and Steve shudders, his cock pulsing wetly, enough that he worries for a half-second that he’s come without permission after all.

“Show me,” Tony orders, and what can he do but obey, rocking faster and faster, his hands clutching onto Tony’s shirt with a death-grip, and the sound of fabric tearing is unmistakable.

His eyes snap open, and he stares at Tony, an apology catching in his throat. He’s seen the way Tony treats his clothes, and he knows it doesn’t matter that he’s just ripped his shirt, he knows, but there’s a ridiculous buzz of anxiety skittering through him, and the smile that blossoms across Tony’s face, dark and delighted, just makes it get worse.

“I want to see you come. Now,” Tony says, and Steve doesn’t even understand what he’s saying for a second, because Tony’s jerking Steve that much closer to him, dragging his cock across his stomach as the fingers that have just been teasing him up until this point start pushing in. And if Steve had any thoughts in his head at that moment, he’d know that Tony can’t exactly go very far since Steve’s clothes are in the way, but he doesn’t, and the threat—the promise—of his fingers just magnifies the unreasonable fear he’s already feeling—what is Tony going to do to him?—and later, Steve honestly can’t remember if he’d managed to wait for permission or if Tony had already been too late, but it doesn’t matter either way, because he’s coming and coming, eyes wide and body shaking, falling apart in Tony’s arms.


End file.
